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["the chatter of a missionary sysadmin"]
2002-03-10 1:54 PM
Method, also called Madness
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So, Friday, I wrote a little ditty about my methodolgy, because apparently, Justin just doesn't care about cannibals. Which ruined my day, since cannibalism had been of of the five major planks of my analysis -- but that analysis had been based on both him and Athenagoras, as well as others. Justin just doesn't care at all. Fine, eat the weak, sacrifice to demons like Athena or Saturn, but don't try accusing us of it! Not even the faintest whiff of a chain-consumption argument.
So, instead, I turned to the methodological statement my advisor wanted me to write right off the bat, back in Fall. Which I never got to, because this kind of thing is dull compared to ransacking texts for their ideas. Now, I've gone and done it, rather post hoc.
My approximately five-page screed is a renunciation of almost everything almost all my kind postmodernist profs tried to instill in me. Sure, epistomology's a bitch, but that's life, you know? Knowing things is hard, but not doing it don't get the rent paid -- deconstruct money to your landlord, and your butt gets bounced on the pavement, and your derriere and Derrida are both in a ditch -- or, the social construct named a ditch in order to allow for the continuation of the phallogocentric discourse of water drainage.
Life is tough, but we have primary texts, and they're written as much as communicative vehicles as any deconstruction job in a specialist journal. Incomprehension is inevitable, but with unrelenting attention to context, referents, and the process of reading and writing, meaning can be gleaned. Unglamorous, but so are charters for endowed chairs.
I can hear Kzoo murmuring from here, but at least some of their departments did their work well enough for me to see how their real work really gets done.
Of course, now that I've had my fun, and gone back for the cannibals, too, it's back to the grind. Took most of the day off yesterday, inadvisedly, and this morning, too -- finished most all of a Glen Cook novel between waking and end of lunchtime, which was great fun, scarfing it down with coffee and corn chex.
Oh, and if you want to see some deconstructing happening, you can catch up with Justin, working hard to turn the tables on the pagans, here: II Apology 12 (ignore 19th-c. chapter headings).
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