Death and the Compass

This is one of Borges' more willfully banal short stories. I've been reading his collected stories all week (awesome) and have gotten a pretty good idea of the themes that usually occupy him: labyrinths, libraries, God, chance, time, repetition, and infinity. The stories are an obsessive-compulsive's anguished plea that there be some secret order to chaos, some meaning or consequence to our actions, no matter how dire the repercussions are. As such, the stories often end with some hilarious and/or cruel magical element that makes us reflect on the presence or absence of a God or divine design, and whether the presence or absence is preferable.

"Death and the Compass," in Borges' usual way, begins with thick suggestions of that magical element. The plot is a kind of scavenger hunt that a detective embarks upon in order to solve a murder. Each of the clues unveils a letter of the name of God - and each clue is a new murder, or "sacrifice," as an informant calls it. The detective solves the riddle and arrives preemptively to the scene of the last murder/final unveiling of God's name. He learns then that the entire scavenger hunt was an elaborate hoax, a trap set for him by a personal enemy who capitalized on the detective's desperate insistence that the first murder was not an ordinary wrong-place-wrong-time accident, but rather a mystical event that would reveal to him the proof of God's existence, and thus the proof that nothing is an accident.

Of course the joke is that the pseudo-riddle was not an accident, since it was self-fulfilling prophesy of the detective's own unjustified faith - and yet it is what proves definitively the absence of a God, at least in those events. The detective's final words before he is killed by his enemy is a request that in their next life, the enemy set the trap for him within the infinity of time. Certainly this is ironic because we have no reason to believe in infinity or the transmogrification of souls, in light of plot, and yet the detective persists in his delusion that there was a mystical cause and effect, rather than a common, unremarkable revenge.

I call this story willfully banal because it frustrates a lot of the expectations the reader forms when reading Borges in series, as I did. Borges usually prefers the opposite conclusion, namely that what appears to be banal and ordinary is in fact the workings of an unfathomable order. The reverse of that is funny to read, but at the same time it's a little disappointing. The feeling I got at the end of "Death and the Compass" was similar to that feeling I get with stories that employ the "so it was all a dream!" resolution. That is, instead of supplying a real resolution to a complex set of problems that have been painstakingly developed, the author simply decides that everything was an artifical machination with no consequence.

But even though I found the end of "Death and the Compass" to be rather deflating, I was quite intrigued by the story because of that very fact. The detective's attitude makes the banality interesting: essentially he declares, in the face of contrary evidence, that there is God and order. I thought that was a fascinating insight into human desires: believers would choose to get fucked over by their beliefs, a hundred times over, rather than stop believing.

This morning I found myself making the same choice as the detective. Yesterday I took the LSAT and fucked up one section in the most devastating way: I accidentally skipped a question and ended up shifting down the answers for 3 questions. The knowledge that I did that is CRIPPLING. I worked so hard for so long and gave up so much for this, my last chance, and in the end I'll always know that it was not the best I could do, and that I was screwed by the stupidest of all oversights, rather than a lack of ability or effort or something else within my control.

Then this morning, as I was laying in bed crippled with disappointment and regret, I had a thought: maybe that oversight was some divine retribution I got for trying to sneak myself an advantage. Without going into too much detail, I remembered that there were 3 other questions that I should have missed, but I managed to correct them. 3 and 3. This was the first thought I had that was comforting. Instead of a meaningless, chaotic, and cruel accident, my mistake was an act of justice, and the belief in that was so much easier to face. I've had the thought before, that even if I had to burn in a lake of fire for a thousand years, I'd still have an immense sense of relief knowing that God does indeed exist. The LSAT was a little like that.

Google Earth

Wow, what a great toy. I got a long-term assignment today from Nice Boss which requires me to use it, so naturally, after downloading the program, I've spent the day looking up my house, my high school, my surf spot, etc. Not only do they have very detailed satellite images of everything, but they also mark out points of interest with features, including scenic photographs of the San Clemente sunset, and (old) wikipedia links to my first hometown, Phillips Ranch. I learned that wikipedia evidently did not have a very high opinion of Phillips Ranch:

'Phillips Ranch is a master-planned community located in the southwestern portion of the city limits of Pomona, in Los Angeles County, California. It is located near the Pomona Freeway (SR-60) and the Chino Valley Freeway (SR-71). The zip code serving the neighborhood is 91766. Phillips Ranch, which is 4 miles southwest of downtown Pomona, and is mostly working-to-upper class. Phillips Ranch is often referred to by its neighborhood name instead of by the city name (Done mainly to garner the appearance of a higher social status). Pomona has had a reputation for crime, particularly homicides, although its murder rate is no worse than the city of Los Angeles. Still, many residents use "Phillips Ranch, CA" as a return address, even though no such postal station exists.'

Assholes Killed My Dreams

I can't sleep tonight because I'm overwhelmed by this feeling that I've lost my way. I'm so unhappy. I was cruising this past month on uncertainty and regret, and above all, a flattered ego - I thought I missed grad school because I thought I might be making a mistake. But with time, inevitably, the effects of flattery start wearing off, and you start seeing things the way they are. The other day, I suddenly forgot the kind words of parting encouragement, and remembered all the persecution and unfairness that I suffered, and instead of feeling uncertain I felt very, very angry (again), because I could have gotten along fine if the assholes hadn't killed my dreams. Sure, maybe in the long run I might have come to the same conclusion, because I do think there would have been some horrible difficulties after graduation; but I wouldn't have lost the nerve to go on so soon if there had been some common decency.

You know, like: instead of admitting that I was one of the few people who deserved an A in a particular class (I ended up with a B+; but even that didn't bother me at the time), how about Janko just give me that damn A. Instead of telling me all year that I was on the brink of passing my Latin exam, how about passing me already. How about taking me out of the clutches of that asshole Arthur, especially after that arrangement has been acknowledged as a "conflict of interest." How about stop trying to change me (ie append a penis), and give me all those handouts and coddling that all the cute boys in my department have been getting. And most of all, how about giving me a compromise when I'm begging for even the smallest concession, instead of shutting me out cold with the understanding that I should give up all hope, or any answers at all.

But no. Because of all the two-faced haters I had to cut myself loose and now I don't know who I am anymore! Now I have to take LSAT classes with insufferable geeks. I'm on perpetual thin ice with the 'rents, and virtual self-imposed house arrest, because I have no income and no occupation and have transformed effectively into a drone. A year without a social life: if I don't get a job soon I will become a mole-person. And forget about meeting Mr. Right and getting married, because I couldn't catch a man even when I was cheery and fun, so fat chance I'll achieve it when I'm a mole-person. And finally, there's the LSAT: my whole future balancing on that one stupid exam, assclowns who can't even tell the difference between "who" and "whom" get to decide which school I get into!

OMG! I'm so unhappy! I had so much more clarity back when I was in that pit of vipers. Frying pan? Fire? God, who knows. I guess that's life, only I seem to be eating it a lot worse than other people who don't have self-destructive drug dependencies. Why do I have to be unemployed? Why do I have to turn into a mole-person? Shouldn't that kind of sadness be reserved for people like alcoholics?

Glass Ceiling

I heard that there's a guy in my department who's been saying douchey things like, "We the grad students refuse to go to any more of the lectures because there have been too many commitments lately and it's unreasonable." I'm not saying he's wrong or anything, except that by "we the grad students" he really meant "I, Mike Sampson" (he's the grad student rep), since this is not anything we grad students discussed collectively - and I happen to know that it's a jab at those of us who didn't host during prospectives weekend, unlike schmucks like Mike Sampson, and he really wants to reminds how much woe is he. His complaint got passed along to the faculty, who were surprised: shouldn't the grad students be glad that our program is hosting this very prestigious lectures series, and welcome the learning experience? But because he's a dude and fits the "mold" (whatever that is; I just know it isn't me), he gets away with it! The faculty just nod and murmur, "oh okay," and he's excused from further obligations! Meanwhile I get back-stabbed, and a reputation for being uncooperative, just because I try to be conscientious and don't whine about my problems to people for whom it's none of their business . And because I'm a woman. Who is not a douchebag.

God, I'm so sick of this this system that rewards doucheyness. I guess I've been complaining about it for a good month now, but seriously: women's lib has got a long, long way to go. I'm just starting to realize how people can still bring you down even if it's institutionally not permitted.

Things Go Well in the Life o' Rex

1. I got a verbal promise to teach for Great Books next year! It was a half-assed thing I asked about because I really didn't want to teach for Sports in the Ancient World (jock class), or Latin (I would have broken down and cried), and though my own background is totally perfect for the course, I knew that the professor gets along much better with boys than with girls, so I thought it was kind of a long shot, especially when he murmured something about departmental politics in assigning GSIs, but I should go ahead and send in my CV anyways... It happened that I didn't have a CV, so I took my time with it. Imagine my surprise when I get a phone call this afternoon, and it's the professor urging me to hurry up with my application! He told me that the job is mine as long as I get the paperwork done. Later today I mentioned this to Boom Boom, and he said that it was actually a pretty big deal for Prof. Cameron to give me the green light - you know, what with the XX and all. I give credit to my conference paper last week (Cameron is the one who called it "very smart"); it's good to know that my efforts were not in vain, but already have saved me from a fate worse than death.

2. I think I may have found my home for next year (barring the credit problem resulting from Comcast's incompetencies). It's bigger than my place now, and cheaper, still close to downtown, and even closer to campus. I really hope this Comcast thing does not fuck me over.

3. All indications from that streak of personality tests (taken yesterday, before 1 or 2 came to light) say that I'm generally a very happy person. Isn't that funny? I feel angry and depressed a lot of the time, so I can't imagine how terribly excruciating the whole circus of life must be for the people who are truly unhappy. I almost can't understand why they would go on living...until I think of death, and how it is a graver horror than any hell-vision I could imagine (no consciousness!). In fact, it's the only thought that truly makes me feel ambitious, as per the white room test. A (different) personality test mentioned that I'm a person of low agency (so true!), so if I ever achieved anything that my mom didn't do for me, it's because of my fear of death.

For those of you who are interested, here's my whole profile for the one test. Surprises include: openness, empathy (ahem, Que-Ni), femininity, and aesthetic.

Robert Kaufmann is a Motherfucker

I just had a flashback of all the boneheaded things he used to say as I was browsing through the old critical theory textbook we used to use. God, the man was an idiot. Moreover he didn't know he was an idiot, so that eventually I just decided to get through his class by keeping my mouth shut, writing down every retarded thing he used to say, and spitting it back out for the final. I don't remember what grade I got, but I think it might have been an A-. Because, you know, he thought his own ideas were so brilliant and rewarded regurgitation.

When I think back to past decisions, it occurs to me that I shouldn't have been such a good sport and put up with so much bullshit. A week into that class I should have walked out and said, Peace out I'm taking an independent study. Why am I so convinced that life is tough for everyone? In the Kaufmann case (and probably the current Jay Reed case) my life was probably difficult only because I didn't put my foot down and tell him to jump in a lake.

Sore Throat

In case you missed it, I've been sick and tired for what seems like forever now. Except as of this morning, that sick has become literal. I was wondering as I went to bed last night how this all-work-no-play marathon hasn't broken me yet (and what would happen if I did break???). My eyes are withering in their sockets and my posture is atrophied and I feel dead inside. Back in my college days, I surely would have been bedridden by now. But somehow I'm still turboing through. I like to think it's because of the herbal junk I had to take this summer; maybe it really does make you stronger. Besides, I'd be in so much deep-fried shit if I drop the ball now.

Then I woke up this morning with a sore throat and an achy feeling, and I thought, Of course! - but I had to go to school so I went to school...

...so you can imagine my disbelieving rage when I get an email from my professor that I've been grading my students too hard on their papers. Little brats are lucky they got they're papers back at all! I barely have time for me, and I certainly don't have time to coddle their dumb asses this week. Not to mention that my class average was 85! I was ready to rip out the professor's spine for that. How dare he turn on me for taking my job seriously, instead of giving everyone an A. Yeah, I'd gladly blow it off too. I should be getting fucking medal because I didn't.

You Know What's Worse Than a Nerd?

A nerd who thinks his nerddom is cool and so doesn't give you the courtesy of trying to hide it. You'd think by the time you became an assistant professor you'd feel self-confident enough to stop flexing nuts about how "cool" you think you are, but goddammit, some people are just like born to never get it.

Meanwhile, I seem to be born to make enemies in high places.

Welcome Readers!

Congratulations! You have officially made it to my roster of people who don't creep me out. Now I'm at liberty to talk all the shit I want; and more importantly to you, you can be sure that you're not getting shit talked about you.

At some point in the future, I may be making the blog public again - but this is still on the DL. I first want to shake this unknown reader who keeps checking my blog from the Michigan Union...who very well could be Sanjaya (aka VJ, aka Gianormous Tool). This is the real reason I went private, because this unknown person obviously knows that I keep tabs, and so he went out of his way to go to a public computer, where I couldn't verify the identity of the reader. Creepy!