Sartre Kiteboards

With all due credit to the original author of "Sartre Cooks," Marty Smith, I present you, Gentle Readers, with my version, "Sartre Kiteboards."

Jan 15

Malraux suggested rather than pester him with my political ideals of revolution, I write an essay on kiteboarding. At first, I scoffed at such a notion. Now, I am intrigued by the possibilities of floating off into the void on such a contraption.

March 1

After much effort in vain to secure such a piece of equipment in early 20th century Paris, I have fashioned my own kiteboard, consisting of an old crucifix and six pounds of plaster. After allowing my masterpiece to weather for a few months in the bitter spring rains, I showed it to Gide, who pointed out the thing will not float. I am well pleased.

March 5

Feeling alienated by my futile attempts to gain knowledge of a subject that does not yet exist, I took a hammer to the whole project. When Gide returned, he pronounced it "an acceptable rendering of bourgeois derealization." Feeling mocked, I ushered Gide out the door, having first filled his pockets with crushed plaster, then sat in the dark and wept profusely.


April 1

Have been ruminating on Gide's statement for almost a month. Consumed an entire carton of cigarettes without lighting them and dashed off telegram, ranting "you can always make something out of what you've been made into." Have heard no reply thus-far. Am bereft, but resolve to do better next time.

May 15

Further attempts at realization of the physical form of a kiteboard have not gone at all well. I have decided to abandon my project and instead ponder the phenomological ontology of something which has not yet been called into being. de Beauvoir has stopped by to say that, while she is pleased I am working so feverishly, the last time I showed up at one of our Socialisme et Liberte meetings, I appeared to have had my entire left sleeve gnawed off by a resident rat. Furthermore, she relays that Merleau-Ponty claims I am unwittingly referring to myself as "Dude." Flustered, I claimed this was a nom de plume of mine, and hurried her out the door with protestations that my cat needed to be fed. Before I could dispose of her, Beauvoir pointed out that if I had a cat, I would not have a vermin problem. I had no answer to that.

June 3

I grow weary of this endeavor. I suspect Malraux only suggested this project to staunch the flow of my rabid political desires. Nonetheless, I have written a six word treatiste called " "Le Board de Kite" and submitted it to the French press. I have heard nothing back about its publication. I refuse to clean up the residual plaster in my flat, much to the distaste of several of my mistresses, who felt slighted when I railed at them for being overly-bourgeois. The decay and ruin of my life's work haunts me.

July 25

Still nothing from the French press. My attempts to relay my masterpiece were met with dismay and looks of shock from my colleagues. After much gastric distress and consumption of ersatz war coffee, I have therefore decided, instead of 'kiteboard' to use "paper-knife" as my metaphor for essence-before-existence. I have self-loathing and resist this inauthentic expression of selfhood, but alas, I bow down to the concept of "Other as Kiteboard." It has defeated me at last. I suffer as I inhale the last of the plaster dust and float off on the seas of eidetic reduction. I am, at least, finally free of this kiteboarding nonsense.

in which I labor under the delusion "everything is fine."

Work, for reasons I am not stupid enough to discuss on this blog, feels more like a life sentence than a job at present.

Working night shift is helping absolutely nothing, either. I'm back to living life through the prism of utter exhaustion, vampire sleeping habits on my days off, and supplicating to St. Jude with a special prayer asking for a city bus to hit me on the way to work, so I'll at least look as bad as I'm currently feeling.

My self-esteem having plunged to an all-time low, I have taken to the obnoxious habit of droning endlessly on about going to grad school again. I feel like some second tier rock star past her prime campaigning her publicist for a "come-back tour." Unfortunately, a return to academic ensconcement probably creates more problems than it solves, what with the economy spewing toxically bad consequences for university funding, and my general impression that no one, six years post divinity school, is going to remember me well enough to write me a recommendation. Not to mention my not-so-secret fear that the admissions committee won't just take one look at my application, titter politely into their sleeves, and move on to the next one after stamping a big red, "What the fuck was this one thinking?!" advisory on the top of my underwhelmingly pathetic little file.

The good news is that this much anxiety and depression about work usually diminishes my appetite, and so with any luck in a few months I'll look about as nonexistent and marginalized as I feel at present.

in defense of academia

My recent experiences in my current profession having reached an all-time personal bizarreness, I have once again retreated into fantasies of academic splendor.

Alas, I'm about the only one in this household for whom a return to academia is a rapturous thought.

On some level, I can't help it. I'm a really big nerd. The kind that would go to school forever, if "student" was a full time occupation (that, you know, paid a living wage, with maybe some decent medical insurance thrown in there for good measure).

I would love to go back to school and, for instance, take an entire course in Latin. Or really punish myself and attempt doctoral studies in... well, whatever program would accept me (as opposed to laugh me out the door).

And, if I had to do it all over again, I probably would have majored in English (arguably even "softer" than majoring in religion!) and gone off to graduate school Determined To Be A Poet, Dammit, or something frowned upon by those who contribute to society in a quantitative way (that is, make a living wage doing Something Useful).

I may not be up to my usual standards of elocutio (I believe evil night shift is largely to blame) but after several revealing conversations with various persons regarding The Meaning of Formal Education, I feel I have to defend my own position contra that of, say, the modern university as contrived by the free economy. Or at least just bring up various loosely related points, and ramble on in a semi-coherent way like Grandpa Simpson.

To this end, my smart and insanely clever guy made a comment that revealed to me A Sobering Truth--that the purveyors of formal education are more than willing to sell you an education for which, in the end, there is naught to be returned employment-wise.

This was a depressing bit of horse-sense which, although it thoroughly annoyed me to attempt to contradict at the time (pragmatism and my own educational goals have rarely been happy bedfellows in my experience) also threw into clear relief exactly how this country generally "thinks" about its professional thinkers and academic elite.

I often forget that modern education to many is a means-to-an-end, and as such, is a commodity, bought and sold in as ruthless a market as oil and God knows what else. It's a harsh reality--like realizing that health care isn't so much about saving lives as it is getting medicare to cough up for the CT scan we just did on a brain dead ninety four year old (completely made up example, by the way) or whatever.

On the other hand, I am a huge champion of education for education's sake. To me, learning for the sake of personal enrichment and knowledge is practically a noble virtue. It's like saying, "I take a stand against learning useful skills that I can use to earn a living!" (Just kidding!)

Sure, part of me wants to return to the halcion days of my earlier youth, when all I had to do was show up for class and write papers, and no one died or was consigned to existing on life support if I screwed up a footnote.

But there is also a part of me that deeply values a liberal arts education and feels that there is something wrong with a society that invests in education largely to promote their educated class as free market labor (as opposed to a society which envisions education as an enriching activity necessary unto itself).

I also think it's sad that we largely consign our most highly educated to the ranks of the unemployed, and yet spend hours gaping slack-jawed at entertainers whom we willingly shell out millions so that their antics might effectively numb and deaden us to the possibility of, oh I, don't know... an actual intellectual heritage, critical thinking, self-discovery, and appreciation of the worth of others, maybe?

I mean, what would our intellectual landscape look like if, instead of promoting ridiculous showcases like American Idle (sic) we poured that money into grants and fellowships and education?

I'm just saying, it's not like popular culture has shed an overabundance of attention or recognition on the lives of many intellectually gifted people in this country, and I think it would be refreshing--although frankly I don't hold my breath--if we shifted our values and made academia and academics more of a moving force in this country. What would it look like if we actually paid highly qualified doctoral candidates for their very big brains and their ability to use them, just like we paid entertainers and atheletes all that ridiculous money? It is a fantasy I indulge in at least once a day, partially because of my own biases (I'd give anything to be one of those very big brains, and have many friends and acquaintances struggling in this piss poor economy to find work--persons who I feel should be more protected and have more employment options and simply don't, even when the economy is booming).

Yeah, I know, not all entertainers and atheletes get paid millions. But when's the last time you heard of professors of philosophy signing on multi-million dollar contracts, even to work at places like Harvard or Princeton?

I'm not even saying we should reward the Big Brains With Big Degrees with lots of money.

But, some money, and some recognition, and so forth? I don't think that's a lot to ask for their unique skill set and extra special secret super powers.

Meanwhile, I'm heartened to know even people like Martin Luther suffered from Anfechtung and am hoping one day I can refer to it in some footnote, and feel like I should probably try to coax some sleep out of this fast waning night.