Postscript: Liminality Was So 2004 and Praeteritio, Furtim

I'm agnostic about the value of blogging at the moment, and I stand by this as a clearly articulated, if hastily written and sometimes poorly worded summation of much of what this blog has been/was. The tense confusion in the previous sentence evinces my ambivalence about resuming blogging, and I don't know that I will any time soon, but at the moment it is 1 in the morning, I have recently completed a paper on academic labor and intellectual formation, I learned recently that I'm TAing a large intro lecture next semester, a hole fell out of my tooth a couple weeks ago, and this showed up in my inbox today.



So I return here, not to offer not-particularly intelligent exposition on the recent ICE terror campaign against New Haven, or that "heartless hospital"'s never ending spiral of lies, harassment, and fear. Nor will i subject you to another legnthy reading of Buffy and the neoliberal university. I'll even spare you my take on Aaron Sorkin and white liberal masculinity, particularly as read in and through the incredibly crappy Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip. (What? Kidnapping? Someone call Leo McGarry, wrong show be damned!) I won't talk (much) about family health crises and why an episode of Grey's Anatomy made me start spontaneously bawling a few weeks back. Nor will i ask you decide whether the Taste of Honey "Rescue Me" riff sampled by the Funky 4+1 on "The Joint" is better in its original disco form or more well known Sugar Hill incarnation.

I won't subject you to my constant inner monologue on NYU and my attempts to figure out how to reinvest myself in activism and organizing after last year's banal frustrations. And I don't want to get too emo and complainy about New York/aporia. Suffice to say that while we are taught to value the transverse and the rootlessly cosmopolitan, the migrant and the precarious - and rightly so, as sites of radical potential and transformative politics, I do not believe that yearnings for community are necessarily reactionary or recidivist. The fact that solidarity's contingent and imperiled doesn't make it any less valuable. I'm going to sleep now. Oh, Richard Levin will not be the next president of the world bank, so someone should warn Bud Selig. One has to wonder whether he was asked and said no, or whether someone thought Zoellick would be a more attractive candidate because he's less personally connected to the president. But Levin still gets that $42,000 a month pension as of next year, and 1800 hospital workers are still fighting for union recognition, and the world bank will continue to be the same baleful agent of privation, inequality and neoliberal fiscal disciplinarity. Woohoo. I'm going to sleep.