I spent all weekend reading and writing. It was nice to be able to turn off my phone and just get down to business. No distractions, nothing but me and the empty page. I was productive, but this makes me think about writing.

I'm an academic writer. This is very different on all counts from what is typically known as "creative" writing, which rarely is so. Anyone with a pen and an axe to grind nowadays writes poetry, or at least since the death of poetic form and the advent of "free verse,"--which is synomymous in my mind with poorly written and poorly thought (take the scribblings on my bedroom wall, for instance). Academic writing requires precision. Every word must be toiled over, for you know that you may have to justify using one word rather than another. Especially so in philosophy, where sometimes semantic quibbles become full blown academic disputes. Strawson, for instance, took a bulk of the trouble with Russell's problem in "On Denoting" to be nothing more than confusion over misplaced indexicals.

In contrast to poetry, which is the most overused and underwhelming form of artistic expression, it takes quite a while to compose and polish a piece of academic writing. You can pump out five poems a day (especially ala William Carlos Williams), but you would have had a tremendous day if you write five coherent pages in my discipline. Further, while emotional turmoil is often a good motivator for writing creatively, it is nothing but a hindrance to real writing. Wittgenstein, it is reported, could not do serious work in philosophy during the time during and after WWI, which is part of the reason he initially left and refused to return to the flock at Cambridge.

I have been very unproductive over the past few months. I had 20 pages resulting from the period of January to May. In the past month I have added almost 20 more, ten of which have resulted from my research in the past week. Moreover, I'm thinking more clearly now. I'm starting to narrowing my topic, and have come to an understanding of the problem that early Analytic philosophy ignores and Wittgenstein seeks to amend with his Philosophical Investigations.

What's changed in the past few months? Well, a lot: but that's another whole post. What's important is that I'm back. I've re-gained my confidence in myself and my work, I have a fulfilling relationship with someone I can actually respect (for a change). I have now the freedom to explore my research without the financial worries or emotional abuse I have suffered previously. My overall change in attitude has done remarkable things for the quality and quantity of my writing. And so, here's to never letting anyone stand between me and my happiness again, because all it does is stop me from asking the questions that are important.

As a public service, I often run down a list of music that I'm listening to in an attempt to instill some taste into our bankrupt social milieu (if I have to hear one more fucking Killers song . . .) What follows is an annotated list of ten albums (in no specific order) that changed the very way I look at music. I'm not saying you need to own these; I'm just saying you're uncultured if you don't.

1. Guns and Roses-Use Your Illusion I and II (1991)

Sure, Appetite for Destruction was a great album; in fact, it was one of the first tapes I ever bought. But thus double-disk masterpiece produced (as I'm counting) a dozen singles. Everyone is familiar with "Don't Cry" and "November Rain," but the sheer variety of amazing songs is startling: from the ass-kicking "Garden of Eden," to the mellow "So Fine" and the angsty epic "Estranged," this is truly an album set which has few equals, either in scope or just plain attitude. It was created by the band in an attempt to surpass and consequently bury their work done on Appetite, and I think they did just that.

2. Miles Davis-Kind of Blue (1959)

I don't care if you're punk, metal, what have you--Miles appeals to all. If you haven't listened to this album at top volume, you can't like music.

3. Devo-Q: Are We Not Men? A: We are Devo! (1978)

One of the greatest punk albums . . . well, ever. Devo immediately appealed to me with their quirky off-beat style paired with their bitterly sarcastic and implicitly political message. They were one of the first bands to successfully use keyboard synth and sampling, and perhaps one of the last to do so creatively and tastefully. Duty now for the future!

4. Tori Amos-Little Earthquakes (1992)

Emotion: pure and unadulterated. Just a girl and a piano, churning out some of the most deeply felt and moving music ever known (and this is her debut album!). Tori is a lot of things to a lot of people, but to me this album will forever hold a special place in my heart. I still can't hear "Precious Things" without getting sentimental, nor should you be able to.

5. B. B. King-Why I Sing the Blues (1992)

There is, I am convinced, a B. B. King song for every mood you might find yourself in. And this album, from its sheer variety, seems to have it all. From the overtly political ("Why I Sing the Blues" and "Ghetto Woman") to the joyful ("Hummingbird," "So Excited," and "To Know You is to Love You") and the down and dirty blues ("Aint Nobody Home," "The Thrill is Gone" and "How Blue Can You Get?")--there is, as I like to say, a B. B. King song for every occasion. And chances are good it's on this album.

6. Morbid Angel-Covenant (1993)

My first death metal album was this 1993 classic. The speed, the intensity, the pure unadulterated hate (not to mention the musicianship) makes it one of the best ever. I've always been into heavy music, but this album redefined for me how heavy music can actually be. From the blistering opening track "Rapture," through the churning off-time "Angel of Disease," to (of course) the metal classic "God of Emptiness." This album truly pushed the limits of my teenage musical world.

7. Faith No More-Angel Dust (1992)

Faith No More redefined themselves on every album. The unique and radio-friendly sound of The Real Thing brought them into the pop-culture spotlight, but this 1992 followup is easily their best album. Although this is their fourth studio album, it was the first which was wholly written with Mike Patton in the band. Dark and moody, almost unpalatable to the average listener, this album separated the real fans from the posers. I must have listened to this album more than any other (ever!), and it's still not stale or tiring yet. And "Everything's Ruined" is probably one of my favorite FNM tracks.

8. Motorhead-Ace of Spades (1980)

1980 saw Reaganomics, U.S. conflict with Iran, and an ugly British bastard named Lemmy. And then music changed. Their distinctive mix of punk speed and aggression with metal riffs and attitude was a kick in the nuts to music at its time. Scott Ian credits this album as the reason Anthrax and Metallica played faster and heavier than the second wave metal bands like Judas Priest and Iron Maiden. And still today it retains all of its glory. Although the musicianship on later albums is often better (e.g., Another Perfect Day), and there are great songs on some of the earlier albums (Bomber, Iron Fist), this album is a landmark.

9. Tool-Undertow (1993)

Opiate is my favorite Tool album. Raw and underproduced, that album has always been cathartic for me. But Tool's 1993 Undertow is by far--from every standpoint--their best. I picked up my copy at my local Newbury comics a week after it came out. I recall sitting in my room listening to it on my headphones, and just being blown away. Now, a lot of people like the softer and more radio friendly later albums like Aenema and Lateralis, which are much more digestible to the average listener. But, try to avoid the power of "Swamp Song" at top volume: I dare you.

10. Ministry-Psalm 69 (1992)

The speed, the power, the aggression. Al Journeson has written some great tunes ("Thieves," "Stigmata,") but nothing comes close to the power of this album. Neither what they have done previously (even Land of Rape and Honey) or anything they've done since can touch just the first side of this masterpiece alone: "TV II," "Just One Fix," "N.W.O.," and (of course) "Jesus Built My Hotrod." Fuck, yeah!

N. left for Thailand today, via Chicago. That is, she's spending a night in Chicago before she hops the flight to the exotic city of Bancock. I'm sure she'll come back with something for me, but it's always odd when people ask what you want from a strange place you're pretty sure you'll never be. I find myself saying, "Um . . . whatever they do over there--I'll take one of those." I'm expecting a keychain. I'm hoping for something Kama Sutra-esque. Wait with bated breath, dear readers.

So, the absence of N. means I can sleep at my own place tonight. When you clean off the books and papers, I think there's a bed under there somewhere.

I went shopping this weekend (food and clothing) and ended up missing four social events. So much for my thrilling social life, we can officially sing its death knell. Maybe I'm just getting old, or maybe I'm just bored of the bar scene and its accompanying drama, or maybe I've been screwed over so often that my misanthropy is flaring . . . whatever it is, I just do not have the urge to be around people (with some notable exceptions).

I taught my first class at UT tonight. Critical Thinking this time. Because of my usual dissatisfaction with the way . . . well, everything is done, I'm spending the entire 6 weeks not looking at the dreaded informal fallacies, but rather approaching the study of reasoning from a rather odd angle: where it seems to fail. For this reason, we will be looking at various philosphical paradoxes this summer. Nobody walked out: that's a good sign.

I'm gonna try to clear some of the TiVo tonight, and to progress further on the Monk biography of Wittgenstein. If you haven't read it, do. It's magnificent.

Smoke 'em if you got 'em.

I haven't slept in my bed for a few days. That's not a bad thing, just a statement of fact.

I've been spending a great deal of time with N. before she was to leave. But as it turns out, her departure was delayed. Which is opportune, as it means more time to spend with her.

I finally got in contact with the landlord for the place that I have my eye on: a two bedroom house in Seminole Heights. It's on a tree-lined street which dead ends a literal stone's throw away on the river, where there's a small park. It's about half way between my two jobs, and the rent is less than I expected to pay for another crappy apartment in this area. It's perfect.

Woke up next to N. again this morning. She slept in, and so I rose alone for my obligatory coffee and cigarette. I read a bit more of the Monk biography of Wittgenstein, and with coffee in hand watched Meet the Press as I do every Sunday morning. Occasionally I would peek in on her while she slept.

I had to bring Moose to get his new car this afternoon, a 96 Civic whose dashboard seems completely constructed out of duct tape. The transaction had an air of awkwardness, as the seller brought his mother along. She looked over his shoulder and instructed him how to fill out each line of the title. To add to the absurdity of it all, this went down in the middle of a shopping center in Clearwater. The whole thing smacked of a modernization of something that might have been penned by Beckett.

Afterwards, I felt the need to get something done. I hit up the library and wrote a few pages on Wittgenstein's Tractarian ethical theory (or lack thereof, which is my point).

Simpsons later. And Criminal Intent.

Tonight might be the first night in a several days that I actually sleep in my own bed. But I hope not.

1. haircut
2. finish Critical Thinking syllabus
3. bring N. to airport (Saturday)
4. finish Soames Vol. 1
5. finish the Russell section of Chapter 1
6. Chicken Tony's going away/Augi's birthday party
7. rehersal (in preparation for recording)
8. make my enemies suffer
9. register for dissertation hours
10. vacuum, dishes (cleaning in general)
11. find a place to live

I've been enjoying a little time off. That is not to say I'm not working; after all, I've got a dissertation to write. But, the fact that I don't have anywhere to be for a little while is kinda refreshing.

This weekend I started the Soames book (I'm working both from his two volume history of analytic philosophy and his recent critique of two-dimensional semantics, the latter of which is a dense book which argues against the very thing that I am arguing).

If anyone has any ideas about the relation between Russellian definite descriptions as denoting terms and its place in the reference theory of meaning, let me know.

I got a luke-warm but encouraging response to my terribly edited and incomplete drafts of chapters. Just keep doing what I'm doing, Steve told me. And so I shall.

I'm thinking about going to Chicago this summer. I've got an airline credit I need to use before it expires, and I want to take another shot at that bar-crawl up Clark. Last time, I barely made it to Wrigley from the Belmont L-stop (I'm pretty sure it was that Old Style that got me--a rancid malt liquor that, for some reason that seems to elude me, is very popular in the Chicagoland area). Plus it will be nice to hang out with jason, Nikki and Thane.

Moose has been crashing, since his truck bit the big one. For the past week and a half he's been using my car to get to and from work, and today we should be picking up his new ride. That means I'll be a bit more mobile than I have been. Although: I generally enjoy the inside more than the outside, especially during the balmy Florida summers.

Beach with N. and her brother this weekend. I've been beaching it alot, perhaps more in the past few weeks than I have cumulatively over my six years in Florida. The past few days, she and I have been talking about feelings and labels and whatnot. I am really very happy right now. And whether or not N. is solely the cause, she definately deserves a good part of the credit.

Back to Soames on Russell . . .

USA Today reports that the NSA is logging millions of phone calls made within the US as part of the wiretapping program. Several phone companies are working on this, including Verizon, Bell South and AT&T. I would encourage everyone to stop doing business with these companies. Let them know that your privacy is not for sale. And congrats to Sen. Patrick Leahy (D-VT) for speaking out against the program again. “Are you telling me that tens of millions of Americans are involved with Al Qaida?” he asked today. Adding: “Shame on us [Congress] for being so far behind and being so willing to rubber stamp anything this administration does . . . We ought to fold our tents.”

The House also voted recently to extend the Bush tax cuts, and the feeling is that it will be a slam-dunk to breeze through the Senate along party lines. When will this deficit spending finally end? According to a joint study by the Urban Institute and the Brookings Institution, taxpayers with incomes greater than $1 million a year will receive a tax cut of $42,000 under the bill (4.6%), while families with incomes of $50,000 a year would net a sweet, sweet $46 tax cut (.09%). Have you ever met someone who makes $1,000,000/yr.? Probably not. Which means: you and everybody you know are getting nothing through this bill, while the richest 3% are laughing all the way to the bank.

November's coming up. Make a difference: vote Socialist!

Finally finshed my grading today. Done. Finito. I have yet to physically turn in the grades, but I will do that tomorrow morning. And then I will drink.

This semester has seen highs and lows--I'm glad to see it finally over. My evals were good (at least the USF ones), but I didn't really feel "with it" until about late February. My writing has suffered, too. I've just been generally unproductive this semester, and I look forward to turning this mental page.

I have decided that SallieMae is by far the worst corporation with which I have ever had the misfortune of dealing. They seem to lose more things than not, and aren't very understanding of your situation. I have had two "customer service" reps yelling at me on the phone so far. I found myself making the payments they wanted today--even though I didn't really need to when they finally get the proper paperwork--just to knock a little bit off the balance of this deal with the devil. I'm moving to Paris: try to collect then, fuckers. (btw: does anyone have $18,000 I can borrow, so I can tell them where their In-school Deferment form should be filed?)

I sent two emabrassingly shoddy drafts of chapters off for comments to my co-chairs. I think there's an argument in there somewhere, beneath the shattered prose. I hope they can find it.

I spent a magical weekend with the New Rose. I find that in reflecting upon our short time together, she has at times opened me up to the world, forcing me to see it anew, from a fresh perspective; and consequently she makes me comfortable about being myself. I am doing things with her (and for her) which I have often cast off with knee-jerk ambivalence ("not my style"?) but I now find myself enjoying nonetheless. She seems to make me feel comfortable with myself as myself--without need to seek shelter in my intellectual attitude or my punk rock pretense. For example, this weekend I went to the beach. I even wore shorts and sandals, and without the awkward discomfort that usually accompanies thoughts of these things. Stagnation is death: here's to new beginnings!

Tonight I will relax and clean. Tomorrow I will drink. I will spend Wednesday nursing my hangover, and then Thursday I'll get back to work. And round and round we go in the "life" of a grad student.

"It quite often happens that the old man is subject to the delusion of a great moral renewal and rebirth, and from this experience he passes judgments on the work and course of his life, as if he had only now become clear-sighted; and yet the inspiration behind this feeling of well-being and these confident judgements is not wisdom, but weariness."
-Nietzsche

The New Rose and I have talked it out and reached an understanding, of both each other and ourselves--and I could not be happier.

I take it all back. (Can I do that???)

Thanks for all your support, friends.

Back to grading . . .

"When we're incomplete, we're always searching for somebody to complete us. When, after a few years or a few months of a relationship, we find that we're still unfulfilled, we blame our partners and take up with somebody more promising. This can go on and on--series polygamy--until we admit that while a partner can add sweet dimensions to our lives, we, each of us, are responsible for our own fulfillment. Nobody else can provide it for us, and to believe otherwise is to delude ourselves dangerously and to program for eventual failure every relationship we enter.”
-Tom Robbins

It's an age old truism that men don't understand what women want, but I think it may be a bit exacerbated in my case. I've always been pretty good at almost everything. When I try something, I have the smarts and natural ability that I usually can do it, and do it well. I don't fail at things. And that's what makes it so maddening to date. Because, apparently, I'm just no good at it.

Athena left me for the arms of the first not-me she could find, and the New Rose has sent detailed emails about how much I suck at this whole thing. And they're both right. If you are reading, I'm sorry. I tried. I failed.

Athena left me with a laundry list of character flaws from which she needed to escape. Of couse her reasons for the split were all lies, but she didn't hold back with all the little things that pissed her off.

And recently, after trying my hardest to make the New Rose happy, I failed miserably each and every time. "F" for effort. I feel really bad about it because not only was I unaware of the things she was unhappy about, but I couldn't bring myself to care about the details that she did. Nothing pejorative here, I'm just not good with the little things, the socially accepted rules and conventions, the things "one does." And it was these signs that she was looking at, which I didn't even know existed. I don't think that makes me a horrible person, just not dating material.

I guess I need someone with more patience and acceptance than it is feasible to ask of a person.

Some people are born with the gift of interpersonal communication. I was not. I had to develop it over years. And as far as I've come (you should have met me in high school) I'm not quite there yet.

Love comes easily for some, and they call themselves lovers. For others it comes through constant effort and eventual failure, and they call themselves lonely.

I'm not a lover, I'm a thinker--and this is my proverbial cross to bear.

I want, I hope and I dream about love; where it just comes easily, without serious effort or lofty expectations, when it's just right, and easy and fun.

Some people can make things right when it's going wrong, but I seem to only make things wrong when it's going right.

Perhaps I'm too infected by the love stories of the past, when love and marriage actually meant something, and not in this brave new world in which we live. The twenty, thirty, or fifty year marriage--one based on a true partnership--has been replaced by the quick and easy, which burns hot and then fizzles quickly. Love is a sham when divorce is the norm.

And so, perhaps my image of what true love is may just be a dream.

I've known for quite a while that I don't need a relationship, but now I'm seriously considering if I even want one. All it seems to bring is disappointment and failure, and I'm not good at failing at anything. And also, it's not fair to those whose feelings have been hurt by my oblivious insensitivity as to matters of the heart.

The only thing I've ever been really good at is the history of ideas. And, I need to be at my best in order to pull a substantial part of my dissertation out of my ass this summer, so I'm most likely not going to have the time that it takes to do all these little things you gotta do to make someone happy. It's too much effort to try when you're just doomed to failure anyway. And it's probably all for the best, since I most likely will be moving to a different area in the next year or two, and it would be unfair of me to start something just to leave it behind.

So, I'm going to take a break from dating. I've been searching for it, but I think that's the wrong approach. Often the harder you try to hold on to something, the easier it slips through your fingers. So, I'm going to go back to the only thing that I am really good at: dead white guys, mostly German.

I'm not used to trying hard at something and not doing well. And it seems that relationships are the only thing that I really want to be good at, and that sadly I am not.

To all the girls I've loved before: I'm sorry.

[Edited for style]

"Afraid nobody around here
understands my potato;
Guess i'm only a spudboy
looking for a real tomato."
-Devo

The New Rose has wilted. But, there's a catch: she doesn't even want to be friends. Talk about rejection--not only am I not worth taking a risk on romantically, but apparently I'm not even worth knowing!

I don't think she never really gave me a chance. She never took the opportunity to realize what I am, where I come from, and how different I am than all those others. If she did, she would have seen that I have a lot to offer. To someone else now, I guess.

I'm going drinking now.

Happy May Day all!

Today is the "Day without Immigrants" protest. Millions of immigrants and children of immigrants, both legal and illegal, will be marching across the country today. I encourage those whom might wish to act in solidarity against this pernicious and xenophobic policy initiative to help by participating in the economic boycott. Simply buy nothing today to show your support for those who believe that this country is what we claim it to be--a land of opportunity.

Whatever you do, try to do something radical today. And tell 'em Dr. Willis H. Truitt sent you.