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It's difficult to do archaeology on your own former self, like studying an ancient settlement people have continually lived on and built over. I have some memories of the people I used to be, but they're partial, selective, and already in the context of the narratives that are explanatory to me now. Things that didn't matter to me, that contradicted me, that I didn't realize, are all elided. Without external landmarks with which to orient myself -- public records, intersubjective corroboration, things I wrote down at the time -- it would be close to impossible to check or complicate these memories, but even with those things available there is so much in my relationship to them I have to guess at, what I was unable to acknowledge or articulate at the time, or just forgot.

Read more... )
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It probably looks like I'm really late posting this month, but I actually just didn't finish any books in July. Lots of other stuff has been going on, though. In particular, my class was approved, I set up a room and a timeslot with the women's studies department, and advertised on facebook and various department mailing lists; as of today, there are ten people registered, which is two more than the minimum to avoid cancellation and includes five people I either don't know or don't know to be taking it. I don't think there's anyone liable to be reading my journal who is a current UBC student, interested in both SF and queer theory, and hasn't already heard about it through other channels, but there are still five spaces left and it's up on the student service centre as WMST 425R. It's in the fall term every Wednesday from 10-1, which is a date I'm very cheerful about, since it means I won't lose any weeks to holidays; there's a brief PDF outline online here, and I'll be posting some more stuff soon.

Joanne left on August 2nd to go to Ontario for a month to see her family there, as she does every year about this time. Before she was gone we made a plan that I would housesit, and also spend the month moving in, so that when she got back we'd be living together, which is in fact what I've been doing. By a fluke of timing she's never gone away while we were actively dating before; I miss her more this time, then, because I have no reason to already be holding back from the possibility of connection. I'm glad we're taking this step toward there not being more such separations after this.

I'll be taking my own trip soon: on Thursday I'm leaving for Oregon, back the 31st (two days before Joanne is home). I will meet Rachel's baby! And reacquaint myself with other aspects of Rachel's local landscape.

Being August, it's sometimes been hot, but this past week the temperature when the sun is out has been exactly right for me, not uncomfortable but warm, breezy and peaceful. When it's a day like that I breathe it in and it buoys me up, and I've been noticing that more the past couple of years, or noticing a change in my relationship to it. To varying degrees during the first two decades of my life I thought of and talked about the weather as something baffling and mystical, something that carried encoded in it aspects I was drawn to, but couldn't figure out. I think now this is because it had this tendency to show me at least the potential to feel happy and grounded, at times -- especially in my childhood -- when I felt very far from having reasons to feel that way. Recently, as I've been able to build up such reasons around myself, it feels good to be out on a nice day in the same way that it did before, but I no longer articulate it to myself as numinous.

Because of the people in it (most especially but not exclusively the two mentioned above) and how they reflect me back to me, because of social institutions like university and Windsor House, because of my theoretical, artistic, and ethical passions, and because most of all I've been able to make and maintain a space of personal safety around these: my life is so much better than it was when I was 10. I suppose this is pretty obvious, but what remarkable corollaries it sometimes has!
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I wanted to write a big post about IDEC, but apparently I didn't get around to it before school started so who knows whether I'm going to. It was awesome, though! I met and hung out with a bunch of the current generation of WH teenagers, who turn out to be pretty cool, and went to several workshops that challenged me usefully, and stayed up late vocally jamming with musicians from around the world (!), was made to cry by Yaacov Hecht and got very grumpy at Dr. Gabor Mate. Helen is starting a new school, and I am seriously considering trying to be on its staff once my fourth year of university is done.

This past month's fiction:
Jeanette Winterson, Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit
Charles Stross, Halting State
This concludes my second year of keeping track of novels read; I'll figure out the stats later. I definitely read fewer things than I did during the first one.

Rachel wanted my school schedule, so here it comes, from memory because the UBC website doesn't want to let me log in to look at my timetable for some reason. It's kind of a ridiculous schedule.

On Monday Tuesday Thursday Friday I have Japanese 102 at 9 AM, which means I have to be up before 7 to get to school on time. Also I haven't really practised Japanese since the last course I took in late 2006, so basically I am insane. Today is the first day of school and I got here on time to find that it was cancelled. Well, nevermind.

On Thursdays I have Philosophy of Law at 11:00 (it is a three hour class). The textbooks include a book co-edited by John Russell, whom I used to take classes from at Langara. Then I get a half-hour break and at 2:30 I have Philosophy of Language, which has a very good reputation here.

On Fridays there is the Honours Seminar at 10. They alternate each year between focussing on ethics and focussing on metaphysics; this is an ethics year, which I'm rather looking forward to because last year was pretty metaphysics-heavy, except that it's being taught by the other Dr. Russell so we'll probably be spending a certain amount of time on the metaphysics of free will.

And I'll be working MWF, 12-6, 12-6, and 2-6, respectively, unless I get a better job.

Some other pretty awesome things have been going on, but they're probably not suitable for talking about in a public livejournal entry. Sorry, public.
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Elise is about to head out of town for a couple of months, so if you're a Vancouverite who's been intrigued by my enthusiasm for La La Boom Boom, this Wednesday's show will probably be your last chance for a while to get the full experience for yourself.

Speaking of things I will be at that you might want to go to yourself, though on rather a larger scale, this week is the last week to get the so-called "early bird" rates when registering for this year's IDEC, which the Windsor House-spawned Society for the Advancement of Non-coercive Education is organizing this August at the UBC campus. I went to the IDEC in New York in 2003, so if you (today being apparently my day for addressing hypothetical cross-sections of my readership; you can be a member of both this one and the concert one if you want) are somebody either already embroiled in some aspect of the democratic education movement or else receptive and curious enough to spend a moderately significant amount of money and a week in Vancouver talking to people about it, I can vouch for the experience as basically a marvellous one.
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I've been seeing some people do that thing where one reposts the first sentences from the first entry of each month. It occurs to me that if I did that, every single one would be a variation on 'here are some books I've read'; there is something kind of heartening in that. I didn't know if I was going to stick to this book-tracking thing, when I started. (Of course, there has been that paucity of other content to moderate my sense of achievement.)

Which reminds me, somewhat belatedly: Brendan asked me about Bull's Territory and Vernor Vinge in general. I spoke in carefully vague terms about the former, but the first paragraph of my response does contain a spoiler about the general direction of the plot in A Deepness in the Sky.

As many Bobs already know, IDEC is going to be in Vancouver this summer. David, who is (surprising no one) one of the major people taking charge of the organization, has asked me to write a short page for the rather inchoate website, explaining the notion of a democratic school; I'm having some trouble working out the phrasing. The effort has me thinking about my tendency to habitually underestimate just how radical a notion this actually is.

It's been a long time since I talked about Windsor House in my weblog. )
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Since reading cola's recent post I've been thinking again about how a lot of people become disillusioned with or (as she says) prejudiced against wikipedia. The usual reason, and one of the most compelling reasons, seems to be that wikipedia is an environment where, if you're determined enough, bullying, and being so obnoxious that others give in so that they don't have to deal with you anymore, are pretty effective tactics for getting your way.

So, mostly what I want to talk about (especially since I'm not hugely knowledgable about wikipedia as a specific community; most of my information on the subject comes from watching Rachel) is this tactic, and how, unfortunately, it's actually pretty difficult to set up a discussion environment where it isn't effective. Trolls and other disruptive posters; the possibility of keeping those in line by appeal to some governing authority figure, like a moderator or an admin; the alternative possibility of effecting changes in culture, which is hard. More musing than conclusion. )

So in fact I don't have an adequate solution; sorry, internet. Now I'm going to go home and eat.
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I've finally replied to all of last month's book report requests.

Today was my birthday! I had a midterm (for the second year in a row! I guess it's that season), ate Chinese food, went to a Windsor House philosophy meeting, and thought about how it had been a year since J. was here. However did I pay attention to studying for the Sociology midterm I had last year while J. was here? But I must have, at least a little, because I remember that I got an A- in that course. I have received no presents yet (the presents my mother bought me got tangled in Amazon), but a surprising number of people wished me well, and my day as a whole left me with a warm general fondness for humanity such that it would be difficult for me to complain.

I had some other things that I wanted to write about, but I do not remember what they were. Oh, except that cola asked me a while ago to report on the Sufjan Stevens concert that I went to, since apparently a writer for the Straight pronounced it one of the two best Vancouver concerts of the decade (the other having been something in 2003). I didn't personally think it was as good as the September 19th Final Fantasy concert, but it was pretty good.

...I guess he probably wanted more report than that. Okay, a bad thing: we all (who got there ahead of time) had to stand in line in the cold and sometimes raining for long after the doors were supposed to open, and indeed, as it turns out, well after the show had started; by the time I got inside, from somewhere in the middle of the line, My Brightest Diamond's set was halfway through. Also, I had to sit near the back. Good things included My Brightest Diamond themselves (herself?), who were pretty cool, and the way that Sufjan's band/orchestra, which included a guy playing the saw, were all dressed as butterflies, and he was dressed as a bird, with paper wings that flapped. He also gave several-minute-long and totally arresting spoken introductions to some of his songs, including a rambling story-behind-The Predatory Wasp... that I have no idea how much of which to believe. The performances of the songs were also very nice (I knew only about a third of them, which only served to make me pretty happy that I still have so much to discover), though I think that he might have done well to temper, a little, his fondness for ending them all with huge crescendoes.

Man, what else did I want to talk about? I guess I'll remember sometime after sleeping.
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I'm typing this on Memory -- or rather, Memory's shell, the gutted Memory, reset like _Quinn's Ping. I have the old hard drive here, too, though I still don't know what if anything I might be able to get back from it. Maybe in the meantime I should call this version 'Amnesia'.

I went to the library and got out Pamela Dean's Juniper, Gentian and Rosemary, which is turning out to be charming in a lot of similar ways, or maybe parallel ways, to Tam Lin; it's not the same book, but it tastes almost the same, so it's like having a Tam Lin that's new. Similarly, I've got out Noe Venable's album "Boots", which I've had for a couple of years but somehow never properly listened to until now, and there are songs there that are ragged and yearning and soaring in the way that Noe's older stuff has for me and her newer, for all that I love "The World Is Bound By Secret Knots", has never quite captured, and they have that, but I've never heard them before, so they can astonish me and fill me up just like Boots the song did in 2002. That pleasure, to get back the freshness of something worn with love, is so rare; to have it twice at once is intoxicating.

It has me thinking of Tam Lin, though, and this entry that I wrote nearly a year ago, and the recurring theme of my longing for belonging. A couple of months ago, on a sunny day, Elise and I went for a walk near Langara, and we passed a yard with a wooden playset set up in it, which got us talking about treehouses; I remarked that I had never had one, and that I had always wanted to, as a child, and Elise (being one of the sweeter people that I know) declared that we should certainly build one together. But it felt like that wouldn't quite be satisfying; what I'd wanted wasn't so much the structure of the treehouse as its ideal, the close-knit gang of childhood comrades, all living nearby, all coming regularly to a place they'd built, deep in the pockets of each other's lives. This old dream was really just another manifestation of my pervasive desire for a place to belong.

Since writing that entry, I have often (though not always) been less content than I was at the end of it. This term, Langara has finally become a place that I know people; where it's more likely than not each day that I'll see somebody I know in the halls, and stop to talk. I've only just made this, but I'll probably need to leave it soon. I went by to see Dale the other day, and he remarked that I probably had nearly enough credits to make a university transfer by now; he said that I should seriously consider it, because it was really a much neater environment for someone like me. He's probably right. I'll have another semester here, maybe two, and then I'll move on.

This is one of the most frustrating and exhausting aspects of schooling, and one of the few that Windsor House doesn't seem to have an answer for, although I guess that you get to come back, in a sense, once you have kids. How can I keep building these communities if I'll just have to leave them behind?
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Here's a new poem I wrote.

The night before last, I had a dream in which I was writing an exam (in a crowded restaurant, with my father and sister), and had not read any of the last several chapters of the relevant textbook, so that the questions on the exam made no sense to me. There was no system in place to actually penalize me if I were to open the book and find the answers, so I was expending a lot of energy to resist that urge, which didn't seem to be in the spirit of the thing. This is the first time I have ever had any version of this dream; I think that there's some metric by which I am now officially a college student.

(My waking finals, which grew progressively more challenging and earlier in the day over the first part of the week, until finally for Sociology I had to write two essays at 8:30 in the morning, are all done with now. I think they went okay.)

On Thursday, which was very sunny and calm, cola was at my house, and I watched and laughed as he sat at my computer for an hour or two, playing intently with various absurd modifications of some photographs I'd taken. It made me very nostalgic for the multimedia room.
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I have an idea. Why don't you guys tell me in what ways I'm a dork?

Today we went to see Tess formally graduate from the Lucas Centre, which was neat for the Tess aspect but kind of strange to me, otherwise. There was a restrained quality to the atmosphere, and a sense that everyone was speaking and clapping only when they were supposed to, and a little bit listless for it; even the small attempted transgressions seemed tame and rehearsed. A lot of platitudes, and a lot of imposed homogeneity. I'd last been in that same space for Helen's retirement party, so the contrast was very pointed, and kind of surreal.

I am very happy with my country today.
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Helen's retirement party was so packed with awesome people that I didn't even get to talk to all of them. And I like everyone who was there so, so much, even the people I just met today (and especially Helen). I don't quite fit in at Windsor House the easy way that I used to, but it still buoys me up.

I wrestled and sang and told silly old multimedia room anecdotes that didn't go anywhere with Cody and Conor a bunch of others, and argued genially with a snarky little girl on a unicycle (yeah, my school is awesome). I learned that Sasha and Vanessa read this sometimes (hi!), and that Karen and I, entirely by coincidence, are about the same way through reading the same book. Afterward, I went with cola to eat Chinese food and talk about the art of pulp science fiction, and my fortune said, "The rainbow's treasures will soon belong to you." (Cola's, which I forget, was at least as entertaining in a similar way.)

Does anyone want to go with me to see Howl's Moving Castle?
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1. I'm thinking about my earliest days on the internet, which got me thinking about Keri and Vanessa, who were around at the time. We'd begun to design together our own fantasy world, called Ankersa, which was a name, as the discerning reader may already have, er, discerned, derived from combined components of our own names. We were each in charge of developing one of the three major races. I'd like to look back at the notes, and see just how worthy or silly it was, but I'm pretty sure none of us properly took any.

It gets harder to play with other people - to engage in that sort of unselfconscious shared creation. The sort of thing I had with Ankersa, or the Game, or some of WEM - though never quite with most of Waitility, which we've always been a little too careful about. It's something I try not to fret about too often, because fixating on it would probably make it harder to achieve, but I look for it, quietly, and sometimes I can find it.

(And once, it was mine at a phone call, which is one piece of an old and varied regret.)

P.S. As I periodically feel it necessary to announce, Keri's weblog is pretty awesome.

2. It's tasted like Summer for a while; now the heat is catching up. The nicest part of this is the night time and the evenings, when it gets cool but it's still warm.

One of the buildings in the cityscape has decided to build a garish neon stripe up the side facing us. I'm not sure that I like the effect.

This isn't something I say very often, but I guess I need to find a job.
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Tam Lin, and buying islands. I think of that house, with Karen and Cody, and of J.'s Netside.

I seem to have gone through this a little earlier than most people, because of Windsor House. Tam Lin is a lot of the reason that I've wanted to go to college - a "real" college, where I am immersed in not just a curriculum but a community, because I have always been a sucker for community, for the sort of membership that I felt from that book. Now I'm in Langara, which isn't really that - I would say that I've made friends, but it's a sort of sideways bonding; nothing full-on and intense. And I will probably eventually transfer to a proper university and do heaven-knows-what and I have no idea to what degree I'll feel a part of it.

It can be both unhealthy and kind of heady and glorious to consolidate most of your emotional life in a single, small, insular group of people. Which is a subtly but importantly different thing from being able to give yourself wholly to the love of a specific time and place and fellowship, even knowing it cannot endure for long. I don't know if I want the Tam Lin university experience the way I once did; I think I'd probably value it if I had it, but I don't know if I'm yearning for it. It's been a little while since I lost the constant presence of the Windsor House community in my life (which is sort of my own fault as much as anything, though it could not help being lessened); it could be that I'm wary of another home which I'll inevitably need to leave.

On the other hand, it's possible that I don't feel the need for such a thing very sharply because what I've got now is pretty good. Though I hadn't consciously marked the transition, I'm not nearly so lonely or frightened right now as I was during the Summer or Fall (which observation is intended as no slight to the various #hinotori and #waitility folks who formed the main bulwark against that loneliness at the time); I have AD&D and school and the play and the Philosophy group and various people throwing occasional parties and periodic excursions with Andrew (although he may be leaving for a distant university soon, and I will miss him). I'm not entirely content, but it would seem that I am happy.
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Today is Sara's birthday.

It is also the date of the first gathering of the group of us who want to keep meeting from my Philosophy class, and, at the exact same time, on the other side of town, a meeting to determine the future of Windsor House. A hideous dilemma: do I support the group in its fragile birthing stages, or the mature community in jeopardy? I have chosen the former, because I had pledged to it first and I'm kind of one of the organizers, but everyone who isn't me should show up at Windsor House if they can. Try to imagine what I'd say, and say it. >_>
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When I visited Rachel the last time, or maybe the time before, I followed her around her high school and we attended a class on American Politics and Government, where the group discussed a proposal to lower the Oregonian voting age to 16. I was rather fascinated by how dismissive the students were, even though they would many of them be among the so empowered! The general feeling was that high school students are not responsible enough to vote; they would squander it, they would misuse it, they would vote for jokes and vote while drunk and generally make a mockery of the nation.

The professor agreed that it's true that many people do seem to vote irresponsibly; he related an anecdote about how many housewives who were polled at the time remarked that they were voting for Kennedy because he was so charming and good-looking. The class seemed only to take this as reinforcement; did we really want to see this trend exacerbated? But it seems to me (although I didn't say so at the time, both because I was an outsider and because it took me a while to work it out) that they had spectacularly missed the lesson of the story. Nobody in the room, I suspect, would even have conceived of suggesting that the vote be taken away from women because some of them were foolish about it; why is the standard different for minors? The thing is, if you do believe in the traditional standard of democratic equality - that each person gets one vote - then you have to live by that; you can't go around saying that people you think are stupid can't have it. Part of what you get is the right to treat your vote in a way that appalls other people, if you choose. That 16-year-olds may be, by and large, a goofy bunch (which I think is a perception which is both exaggerated and self-fulfilling) is not a compelling argument here.

I'm thinking about this especially lately because Seth David Schoen wrote something typically fascinating about ideological differences within libertarianism, and he talks a bit about the rights of children:
... I have said for years (from since when I was a radical libertarian) that families and the status of children are one of the deepest sources of paradox and internal conflict in libertarianism, and in other kinds of political thought that aspire to radicalism.

Partly, I think this is because most people have experience being somebody's child and being in some kind of family, and they have ideas and attitudes about family that they learned from that experience, and sometimes in opposition to that experience, prior to and apart from any kind of political ideal. So you can see oddities like people who are otherwise radical advocates of free expression -- "for adults" -- simply assuming that children have no independent rights to free speech or access to information.

When we were talking about Kant, in Philosophy class, we spent a lot of time on his most troubling aspects (for example, the assertion that one should not lie even to save a life, which prompted Abby to deem him 'a nutball'), but I did find one of his basic arguments very attractive - that we ought to consider people as ends, rather than means, and to treat the goals of others, and the reasoning of others, with as much respect as our own. This is only considered to apply, though, to our dealings with what Kant calls rational moral agents; one can hardly respect the reason of someone who doesn't have the capacity for it. When we came to this in class, Dale (our professor) remarked briefly that Kant had not really addressed the case of children, who, arguably, begin without rationality, but later achieve it. My own feeling would be that childhood is a sort of a moral larval stage - it's true that there are some decisions and responsibilities for which one is not yet equipped, but on the other hand, this is the time of learning to make those judgements, and so one should hardly be shielded from them entire. A certain degree of preliminary rational respect is warranted; a certain degree of freedom and autonomy, to teach you the moves. (cf. My ideological fondness for systems of education which emphasize self-determination.)

It is so difficult to try to quantify when a person is mature enough to make informed and autonomous decisions, and especially to try to do so universally. On the theory that it ought to be a conscious personal choice, Rachel's church won't baptise anyone under eight; I wonder how many Mormons would support giving eight-year-olds the right to vote?
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The Dispossessed has such an excellent title. How many things does it refer to? To the Annaresti, who have renounced possession, so that it's a little bit of a pun; the Urrasti, too, no longer have possession, if nothing else, of Annares. Each planet has lost the other, and is in some way poorer for it. And there are the poor of Urras, who feel this most keenly, as well as the other, more direct dispossession of their class; and the aliens, with their ancient sadnesses; and Tirin, mad, and rejected by his people; and Shevek himself, not only on Urras (though there most dramatically), but for much of his life on Annares, often voluntarily. Away, so often, from his family (and Rulag, too, has lost her son). Obligations, and what it is to have things even when you don't, and what Takver thinks when she watches Shevek sleep, near the end of the book. I was moved enough by that paragraph this time around that I typed it up and sent it to Rachel; now I wonder that that may nearly have been a spoiler (unlike this paragraph - go figure). That passage may be the heart of it all.

The other thing that struck me about the book this time around was how much Shevek loved and believed in Annares, and how much he and others were able to criticize what it was doing. I draw strength from that, because I'm aware that I've often been a little ginger about expressing dissatisfaction with some function of Windsor House. I don't want to give others cause to smile in triumph and say, "Ha! So, it is a failed experiment." I don't want to imply even indirectly that it's less wonderful and less important than it really is. I don't want to sound like I'm rejecting it; I don't want to actually reject it. What if this criticism, looked at straight, is a rejection? No, says the book, it's not. It has a lot to say about this. It may be a little bit hubris on my part, but the analogy seems almost eerily direct.

I think I may have to end up putting this on my list of ten, after all. If it would knock out any, it would probably be Fahrenheit 451; I'll have to think about it.
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I got up yesterday at 11 AM (which, believe it or not, was a nearly intolerable earliness), and by the same time PM was feeling comfortably exhausted. I was asleep by shortly after 12, and now I'm up, before dawn, and it's early-not-late (okay, now it's later - I got distracted). I feel proud of that.

Another mundane triumph: I've finally remembered to replace the bulb in my bedside lamp, so I can read in bed again.

I've been thinking about how, for all my occasional protestations to the contrary, the livejournal seems to have become this weblog's primary incarnation, and the different ways of being that promotes. A little while ago, I wrote in my head a brief entry about how recently I've been watching a whole bunch of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and I thought, "That is not a thing I will actually post"; it wasn't that I was ashamed of its nerdiness (though for a time I wondered if I might be), but rather that I assumed that most of those likely to read it would be bored by it. A weblog is (at times uneasily) both diary and performance, and livejournal seems to encourage the latter aspect especially; as my words, with the advent of Friends pages, are no longer just set down for my own amusement in an environment I control, I feel a considerably greater obligation to be entertaining. (Not to mention engaging - as J. has remarked on recently, it's very easy to be lured into patterns of writing that you know will encourage certain readers to comment. There's a sort of symbiosis that develops, which I find rather pleasant, from both ends, though I'm not sure I like what I may be giving up for it.)

(This phenomenon isn't entirely new - those few readers who were present when this weblog collapsed from the grace of regular updates may recall that that had a lot to do with the feeling - and the crippling self-consciousness - that I may have acquired somewhere a lot of readers, and was serving them poorly. There is, of course, some difference between a general pressing sensation of audience and an active, participatory audience. I seem to do best when I believe my audiences to be hypothetical.)

When I went to see the Windsor House play yesterday (which was non-bad, but not among our best), I talked to Sylvia for a while, and she mentioned that she was writing about 600 words a day; just, you know, journal stuff. I felt a twinge of regret for the time when I wrote in this weblog daily, and could probably have said the same.
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I was reading about Thomas Jefferson on wikipedia last night (along with a bunch of other US Presidents, several of whom I'd never heard of; have I mentioned that I like wikipedia?). There was a bit where it mentioned that he "was a great beliver in the uniqueness and the potential of the United States and is often classified a forefather of American Exceptionalism", which, when I followed the link, seemed to be essentially the same phenomenon as that which I was curious about when I wrote this entry - the idea that America is uniquely and inherently virtuous, acting as a sort of beacon of liberty for the rest of the world.

And I thought that the belief seemed a more intuitively sensible thing when it was his, because the nation was something that he had helped to shape and give birth to, and measurably the result of his own strivings to make the world a better place. He was filled to shining with its potential, and setting it in motion; so when he said that America was special, I parse him as meaning, "This task and this achievement were so very worth devoting my life to."

(The US was also probably actually unique in more progressive ways when he was alive, but that seems less important.)

Jefferson seems to be pretty good at getting me to imagine America as something akin to Windsor House this way. A while ago I read the Declaration of Independence for the first time, and it struck me what a neat document it was, stripped of its mythos; I had often heard it described as though it were an almost superhuman achievement, but looking at it, it looked familiarly like the result of a productive meeting of passionate people, and more interesting thereby.

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Andy H.

February 2013

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