Holy catfish, I only have two weeks left in Freiburg. The time has gone by pretty quickly, especially considering that what I've been doing is fairly monotonous. The routine up until last week was basically to spend every morning in the library, come home to make lunch/dinner, and watch tv in my room.

Last week, though, I went to Paris! It was simultaneously wonderful and not-so-great. The wonderful part was exploring the city. I had done a lot of research about different restaurants and patisseries before I left, so I got to check out a few off-the-beaten-track neighborhoods in my pursuit of them. One of the first places I went was Pierre Hermé, where I got a slice of the Ibiza, which is made up of pistachio dacquoise biscuit, almond génoise, orange mascarpone cream, turrón mousse, and crispy almond nougatine.

The nougatine was surprisingly my favorite element, not least of which because it provided a solid delivery to my mouth. Of course I decided to eat this in the Jardin du Luxembourg, which meant that not only was I that person photographing my pastry in the park, but I was also trying to eat a very fine and complex piece with my fingers. I'm sure no one else cared, or at least didn't seem to notice, since they all looked like this:

The weather was quite good the entire time and the sunlight at this time of year is some of my absolute favorite. I went on a boat cruise around 4pm and the light was so good I wanted to whoop. But I didn't.

I also went to Ladurée (I love their website), where I had to restrain myself to only six macarons. I had the woman select for me, so I ended up with orange blossom, chocolate, pistachio, red fruits, caramel with salted butter, and lemon. Next time I would probably try for more exotic flavors, but these were all quite lovely and luckily just this side of sweet. The red fruit was probably my favorite because the flavor was so concentrated and spot on. 

Plus now I have a super cute Ladurée box to keep my bobby pins in.

I had dinner the first night at La Bastide de Odéon, where I had eggplant millefeulle (flavorful, but lacking any texture), roast chicken (delicious), and roast figs (too sweet, but not bad). I would gladly go back there. The next night I was too tired to go to dinner where I intended, so I got a hamburger and beer at a cafe near my hotel. The last night, I had dinner at Aux Lyonnais. I guess I must've accidentally reserved a table for two, so there was a fairly long wait between when I was seated and when the server came to check on me. He was apologetic for the mix-up, even though it was my fault, and was incredibly kind the rest of the evening. Maybe he pitied me a little. I had a charcuterie plate to start, and if you know me, you know I'm a huge fan of cured meat. I even got my own brown jug of cornichons with a special pair of wooden tongs to retrieve them. I felt like a jerk for not finishing the plate, though. For the main I made a dumb rookie mistake and ordered calf's liver. This was a mistake because I saw the word for calf and thought I was getting veal or steak, so was quite surprised when I cut into the meat. I'm not sure how the word "foie" did not clue me in on this. However, it was a fortunate mistake because it was very good. I haven't had calf liver before, so I have nothing to which I can compare it, but the flavor was at least on par with the better steaks I've had. I also had a few glasses of the Beaujoulais Nouveau, which had been released just less than a week prior. I am too lazy to do full reviews of any of these places, and there's no dearth of people willing to do so, but I would still enthusiastically recommend them. One day I also had a crepe that was filled with a fried egg and a big piece of chicken. That was undoubtedly one of the best things I've eaten, although my extreme hunger might've had something to do with it. Also the best falafel I've ever had came from L'As du Fallafel in Marais. So messy, but so good.

When I wasn't wandering outside in the perfect light or stuffing my face full of croissants (an absurd amount, believe me), I spent most of my time in museums. I made it to the Louvre, Musée d'Orsay, and the Musée de l'Orangerie. I'd intended to get to the Pampidou, also, but I spent that money on the boat cruise. Sometimes real life can be better than art.

At the Orangerie I came across some Matisse paintings that startled me with how much they resonated with me. I'd always thought it odd that for as ubiquitous women are in paintings, I never saw myself in many, if any, of them. This, though, was something.

What I found particularly striking about this piece and its neighbors is how evocative I found the eyes, despite their real lack of definition. In a certain way, more attention is given to the violin or even the wallpaper than to the eyes, which are barely even dashes or dabs, but something significant is captured in them. The sense I have of this is the same of what I imagine my own eyes to have, that if someone were to look into them they'd see everything trapped inside me that I simultaneously seek to express and withdraw. A sort of articulation of the inarticulability of inarticulability. I guess that weird Frenchman/would-be-seducer on the street did try to look deeply into my eyes, but that is a different story.

I guess the not-so-great part was that I was on my own. In part this was itself wonderful. It inspired a kind of confidence and self-reliance that I haven't felt in quite some time. Navigating a huge city in a language one doesn't speak is quite intimidating. If I had been with another person, I could've tried a lot more food, or at least have talked with someone while I ate. Actually, it was awfully lonely sometimes. Still, it was good to be forced to deal with myself for a few days.

And now I'm back in Freiburg. The other day I walked near the area where I'd lived the last time I was here. I hadn't yet been back to my old neighborhood, and it was a bit jarring how immediately it seemed like no time had passed at all. In the three and a half years since I'd left, the music on my ipod is basically the same, I wear many of the same clothes, and I still feel homesick in the same way. But I realized how proud I am actually to be doing what I spent months at that time applying to be doing. I'm at one of my first choice schools, writing (well, supposed to be at any rate) my dissertation in philosophy. I am doing exactly what I imagined myself to be doing, and what's perhaps more important, I'm happy doing it.

Then I see blog posts like this one and wonder whether I am really happy, or happy being a coward.

Mode...ein verführerisches Spiel

This is one of the geekiest posts I'm going to write.  The other day I discovered that Fink wrote a book on fashion, Mode...ein verführerisches Spiel [Fashion...a Seductive Play], published in 1969, placing him at 64 at the time of writing. The illustrations, done by Walter Niggli, who, as far as I can tell, is still alive, are particularly great. (I do doubt this, though, since that would make him 103.) The book was published by Modehaus Spengler, a Swiss fashion company. As far as I can tell, which is based only a quick Google search, the book isn't discussed anywhere except in a few bibliographies. This surprises me because this is a clear, approachable, and interesting take on Fink's philosophy, and it is awesome.

Fink's take on fashion is not unlike his take on anything else, meaning he anchors his discussion on what he takes to be the five fundamental phenomena of human being, i.e. work, mastery, love, death, and play, and always in a particular relationship to the world. The five Grundphänome are also what distinguish human from animal and other non-human being.

Fink shifts from an initial idea of clothing as decorative fabric to clothing as housing the body in the way that a house might, but at the same time it expresses something significantly different. What does it mean to have a body? What's the relation between the body, expression, and nudity? There's something, too, about the way we find ourselves moving about the world. Clothing has a particular symbolism that expresses these relationships.

There's something about fashion, which enables us to signalize at once both that we are different and that we belong, that lends a sociality. This sociality, though, isn't the same as a community, and also doesn't take itself as seriously. A great deal of this is due to the culture industry that forces us to fill free time in specific ways, such that this time isn't actually free. It also introduces a false conception of play, namely of play as opposed to seriousness. The way out isn't to give up play, but to rehabilitate it. The seductive element is precisely there in the role of the culture industry. The seductive part need not be strictly negative, though, since it still produces inspiration, excitement, and an interest in beauty.

Ultimately, "Fashion belongs to freedom and play, but also to the raging hunger of the sex, which masks itself, covers its face and through all masks, it pulls through. Fashion is adjacent to the superfluous and the superficial and is therefore already "necessary" in a higher sense. The dress of fashion is dialectic, a veiled revealing of a shameless shamefacedness, high tension of drive through covering of immediate ends, the transfiguration of flesh through the magical mean of textiles. Yes, even all of fashion as a phenomenon of being is dialectic, something, which is decided neither on the one side as positive character, nor on the other as negative; much more it portrays itself as a moving counterplay of opposites (113)." 

Of course last time I mentioned feeling like a jackass every time I think of Heidegger when I'm the woods, so naturally today I stumbled upon the Martin Heidegger Weg. Is it just a coincidence that it's a dead end?

Wandern

Despite my great affinity for Transcendentalism and the occasional Gerard Manley Hopkins, I am not exactly much of a nature person. In theory I like it a great deal. Practice though? Urgh. It takes great self-sacrifice for me to agree to go on a hike or anything athletically-inclined outside, save sledding or sitting. I do enjoy sitting outside. That one of my first adventures with Andrew was a hike says a lot. I think part of this is because the only time my family would go camping would be on the way to Florida in July. Gross. Very gross. In my self-sacrifice I've perfected the let-me-pause-to-take-a-picture-because-I'm-so-out-of-shape-I-can't-breathe-but-I-can't-let-you-know-that.  I'm sure, though, that most people have caught on.

So, imagine my own surprise when I found myself venturing out into the mountains behind my house on Sunday. It was very cold and very foggy and very wonderful. I could stop for as many pictures as I wanted and needed because I was gasping for breath. I think I came across three people for the majority of the walk. I've no idea how far I went, but it took about three and a half hours.

Freiburg is very, very beautiful.

 

As I came around a curve, I came unto this unbelievable clearing with beams of light shooting everywhere. Simultaneously all the church bells in the valley began ringing and I may or may not have gotten a little emotional at the majesty. 

Sometimes it makes me feel like a jackass that it's Heidegger who first comes to mind when I encounter these things, as if no one, myself included, had encountered nature otherwise. But this time, I think he's right on:

That which is can only be, as a being, if it stands within and stands out within what is lighted in this clearing. Only this clearing grants and guarantees to us humans a passage to those beings that we ourselves are not, and access to the being that we ourselves are. Thanks to this clearing, beings are unconcealed in certain changing degrees. And yet a being can be concealed, too, only within the sphere of what is lighted. Each being we encounter and which encounters us keeps to this curious opposition of presence in that it withholds itself at the same time in a concealedness. The clearing in which beings stand is in itself at the same time concealment. (Martin Heidegger, "The Origin of the Work of Art" in Poetry, Language, Thought, trans. Albert Hofstadter [New York: First Perennial Classics, 2001], 51-2).

It was enough just about to make my heart burst. 

Nature and I might just be okay.

Alter Friedhof

Today I was feeling cooped up and decided to take a long walk to the city's old cemetery. I had intended to go the last time I was in Freiburg, but never quite made it. It's quite a lovely area and today's cool and overcast whether provided a nice atmosphere. The cemetery was created in 1683, with most of the graves dating from the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. I'm going to try to make time for little adventures each week, otherwise it will end up like last time and I'll have missing seeing a great deal.

I guess I never did write about Minnesota, and I guess I never did write about the rest of the summer either. It was difficult to write because I was all over the place, really, and when I was home I tended to stay away from my computer except to work on my dissertation prospectus. In short, I went from Minneapolis to Atlanta (seven days) to Kansas (three days) to South Dakota (five days) to Kansas (two days) to DC (one day) to Turkey (ten days) to DC (one day) to Atlanta (five days) to Kansas (seven days) to St. Louis (one day) to Italy (twenty-one days) to St. Louis (one day) to Kansas (eleven days) to Minnesota (three days) to Kansas (seven days) to Atlanta (nineteen days) to Kansas (fourteen days) to St. Louis (two days) to Kansas (one day) to Freiburg, where I am now for the next 66 days. I guess it will be nice to be in one place for a while.

I wish there were some easy way to sum up everything that happened. I want to tell you about the chicken breast desserts and the ancient ruins and the bison and the giraffes having sex and the spontaneous picnics and feeling like I belongand seeing my closest friends and sinking feelings of despair and celebrating my grandma's birthday and relishing brief moments before flights. I guess, in short again, it was great and at times very difficult, and for the same reasons. To be away from Atlanta for a while was nothing short of wonderful, but it was also miserable. Fortunately, though, I think it will work better the next few months.

I wasn't surprised at how familiar Freiburg still is for me, since it was only four years ago that I was here, but I am surprised at the emotions it instantly awoke. Flashes of memory, I guess, and the feeling of grasping for something. I suppose things I had since buried. Two months will definitely be sufficient. I'm in better shape this time, I think. I wish I could say the same for my spoken German.

The newest and most foreign thing for me is actually to hear myself tell people that I'm working on my dissertation. It didn't seem strange to say that I was working on my prospectus, but it is strange that I have passed that point. I knew since a very young age that I wanted to pursue a doctorate (hardly a surprise given my parents), although at times I've wanted to be a neonatal nurse, a cardiothoracic surgeon, and a baker. And now here I am. I am writing a dissertation. I feel too young. But it's exciting and I'm doing it it.

Well, everything is packed and my room is empty. My dad came yesterday to move all of my belongings to Kansas, but I'm staying in Atlanta for another week. Talk about heavy boots. 


I spent the last two weeks in Minnesota, but I'll write about that later. It was what I needed.


I wish I hadn't already sent home all of my kitchen equipment. I have an overwhelming urge to bake. 


Here are some links that I like a great deal.


Steven Pyke's photographs of philosophers.

Neche Collection Photographer Veronica Corzo-Duchardt writes, "Neche Collection (pronounced Ne Che) visually documents materials collected by my grandfather Neche Eugenio Hadad. A Cuban Exile of Lebanese descent, accountant, collector and sometimes thief. My grandfather greatly influenced my work as a artist/designer and passed on his obsession of printed matter and office supplies."

Oscar Ciutat's photographs of caged zoo animals

Isa Leshko's photographs of elderly animals

David Lynch's Interview Project Germany, which captures the stories of fifty different people encountered on a road trip across Germany. This one is from Karl of Buchenbach, which is just outside of Freiburg.

 

The documentary Marwencol from PBS's Independent Lens about Mark Hogancamp who, after being attacked and suffering severe brain and physical damange, creates a 1/6th scale WWII-era town in his backyard as a form of therapy. The town represents his family, friends, attackers, and enemies and he begins to come to terms with his attack and trauma while also redeveloping hand-eye coordination, stability, etc. 

Watch the full episode. See more Independent Lens.

April Inventory

What the heck happened to April? It was busy and I was gone a lot, that's for sure. Plus it's spring and the end of the semester, so the only thing I can expect of myself is to be flighty. This post will be more photos than words, too, since I have two term papers to write before Wednesday. Yikes! I finished teaching and gave the exam. I really liked this bunch of students and will miss them. I'm surprised at how much I enjoyed teaching logic, too.

At the beginning of the month I presented at the Philosophy at Play conference at the University of Gloucestershire in Cheltenham, England. (You can find the abstracts here.) It was my first "grown-up" conference and I'm pleased with how it went. The mix was mostly between playworkers or practioners and philosophers. I think it was the first time I've gone to lectures that I understood and felt like I could respond to intelligently, so that was pretty nice. I'm not sure I learned very much about the particular figures I'm working on, but the conversations and other questions raised were quite fruitful.

The hotel I stayed in was crazy. The curtains looked as if someone had skinned a Muppet, but it was comfortable enough.  Unfortunately I didn't get to spend much time in Cheltenham or England since I had already missed a week of classes (a conference that runs from Monday to Wednesday is bizarre) and it was expensive. Na ja.

Since I've been home from the conference, it's been serious non-stop running. I did manage to squeeze in the FFwD Chocolate Eclairs. I'm not sure how I managed to make them so tiny and they were surprisingly easy to make. I'd never made pate a choux and I was excited by how instantly it came together. I think I'm beginning to trust myself as a baker a lot more now. I had chocolate ganache left over from making these cupcakes the week before, so I just drizzled it on top. In hindsight, I probably ought to have let the ganache warm up a bit more so it looked better, but it tasted fine. The boys polished them off in record time.

And then it was Easter! And I went home to Kansas, where it was cold and a very late spring. Thanks a lot, Kansas. Going home this late in the semester seemed like a terrible idea, especially since I was writing a paper while in the airport, on the plane, and waking up two hours before the rest of the family to squeeze work in, but it was absolutely worth it. I feel more like myself when I get to go home. My family likes to go bumming (Is this a phrase other people use? It sound kind of terrible, but it occurs to me that it might be derivative of the German "bummeln,"  which means to stroll around, go window shopping, that sort of thing, which what we do.) We all got new sandals and drove around to look at houses in the Kansas City area. We missed Ken a whole, whole lot.

Betsy made the above cake out of Melissa Gray's All Cakes Considered. Seriously, what is better than combining npr with baking? Not much, and the cake is proof. I made a bunch of chocolate chip cookies to distribute to people back in Atlanta. Betsy was competing with her boyfriend to see who could make the best cookies, so I helped her a bit, too. Her boyfriend was not allowed to receive any help from his mother, since she's a pastry chef. Betsy was dissatisfied with her cookies, I guess, and entered my cookies as her own. They tied with her boyfriend's, but then it was revealed that he had received help, and was disqualified. Betsy didn't bother to reveal that she had no hand in making her cookies and ended up winning. What a bunch of stinkers!

On Monday I made the Bistrot Paul Bert pepper steak to celebrate Andrew's successful thesis defense. Huzzah! The weather was warm, so we sat out in the backyard. Not bad for a Monday, eh? I wasn't especially wowed by the sauce. I had thought about flambéing it, but we were frying frites one pot over, so that seemed like a VERY BAD IDEA. I'd never made fries before and they went off without incident. I think we were both quite pleased with how it turned out. The dinner was really just lovely. We were both in particularly good moods and it was the perfect temperature out and it was the first time in a while that we really cooked together. Perfect.

I'm pretty stoked for this summer. I'm moving back home at the end of May, since I won't be in Atlanta really until February or March. In June, Betsy and I are going to Turkey for ten days. A classmate of mine has family there and will be in Istanbul while we're there and has very generously offered to show us around. Then I'll be in Italy for three weeks in July for the Collegium Phaenomenologicum, which is a series of lecture courses and text seminars led by some excellent people in my field. Actually, this year's theme is so closely related to my research that I can barely contain myself with excitement. The rest of the summer will be spent working on my dissertation prospectus. I have a committee now, so it's becoming more real as the days go by, especially since I'm now finished with coursework! I received a fellowship to be in Freiburg for the fall semester doing research. That's the plan, at least.