I was reading yet another article about Slavoj Zizek this morning–a figure I’ve basically stopped paying attention to for various reasons–and almost vomited when I came across this:
He is very much a thinker for our turbulent, high speed, information-led lives,” says Sophie Fiennes, “precisely because he insists on the freedom to stop and think hard about who you are as an individual in this fragmented society. We need a radical hip priest and Slavoj is that in many ways.”
Good grief (somewhere a single tear is slowly making its way down Wavy Gravy’s cheek). I mean, really. Gag. Thankfully, the author of the article qualifies this idiotic statment, albeit with another nausea inducing gem:
The very thought, I suspect, would have him quaking in his proletarian boots – and free airline socks.
Quaking? Perhaps (isn’t Zizek always “quaking?”) The phrase “proletarian boots” –clearly an attempt at wit–is just a bit over the top. The author of the article, like most articles about him, wastes a bunch of space discussing Zizek’s appearence. Ooh…Proletarian boots, such a fashion statement! I must march down to the closest TJ Max and get some! Continue reading
This is one of those biographical-type posts (file under personal nonsense). Sorry. One of my colleagues, in the English department no less, keeps similar office hours as me. Due to some idiotic construction, our offices are practically on top of each other and separated by the thinnest of walls (it’s a temporary wall, actually). Being that the offices are small, closing the door often causes the temperature to rise and I feel like I’m in the ante-chamber of Hell. However, I’m living in another kind of hell whenever the “englishist” is around. He insists upon calling his wife constantly. This is fine, I suppose. I mean maybe I should call my wife more, I don’t know. What is not fine is the horrific baby talk and “sacchariness” that comes from his mouth and reverberates in my office day in day out. Disgusting! It’s happening right now, in fact. Ack. “Curmudgeony”, maybe? Petty? Perhaps. Nauseating? Absolutely. And it’s distracting. There needs to be some sort of ordinance prohibiting this type of talk. I’d even volunteer to enforce it!
As an effect of this, by the way, I can no longer take anything he says seriously. This is the same person, who incidentally, was having a conversation with some of my other colleagues and started a sentence last semester with, “Hey Shahar, you’re eccentric, but….”
Cruel twist of fate . We’re being moved over the summer. I’m hoping we’ll be on the opposite ends of the campus.
Anyway, here’s something to counter such perversity: Infinite Thought has a nice summation of the Communism Conference (of which I haven’t had time to comment on–I’ve just been throwing up you tube links- let alone read the pile of student work sitting in front of me, since I can’t get anything done in my office. I’m always so goddamn nauseated).