Coursework and reading dominate my days, though we’re even barely into the second week. Queering America dominates thus far, with this week being devoted to the “uneasy bedfellows” of Freud, Lacan, Foucault, and Derrida. Not exactly Queer Theorists and not likely willing colleagues, but responsible for much of Queer Theory’s foundation. Or so I’ve been told, having not passed the “literally banging my forehead against my desk” stage. The 100 pages of reading for Theories of American Culture was a bit lighter, mostly speeches by former presidents of the American Historical Association, including my childhood crush, Teddy Roosevelt. But then came the Pease, “Moby Dick and the Cold War,” which I likened to a massive scrap heap. Bits and pieces of everything, in a lovely post-structuralist bit of writing. I’ve also attended four lectures in the past week: Black Power and the 1968 Olympics, How We Read Banned Books, Nasim N. Taleb’s lecture for the series “A Philosophical Look at the Economic Crisis,” American Autobiography: Oprah and Obama, and Mind, Body, and Nineteenth Century Psychology in Henry James.
The week was a bit rough for everyone, with the realization that this year will take 25 times as much effort as my undergraduate years at San Francisco State. But never fear, I’m still having way too much fun. Today was like Christmas. We awoke at half-eight to attempt to buy tickets for Glastonbury 2013. One week of camping, art and music over the Summer Solstice. After an hour and thirty minutes of sitting parked at the computer hitting refresh and maniacally hitting redial, Kate’s cousin managed to get through and buy their tickets, and Sean and I successfully bought ours. We’ve had remarkable luck with tickets in the past week: There is a record listening party coming up at a lovely little café, the Bicycle Shop. 40 people sitting in the cozy basement bar, listening to Nick Drake’s “Pink Moon” play from start to finish on the Drake family’s record player. Tickets were finally purchased yesterday after weeks of faffing about, and we realized we were 38 and 39 out of 40. We’re also attending a black tie, Narnia-themed ball for the end of the Michaelmas Term at Cambridge University, and we reserved tickets just in time.
Black-tie dress code advice is desperately sought.