the break-up

Music: Hope Sandoval and the Warm Inventions: Through the Devil Softly (2009) " . . . and so, I think it went well. They seemed happy."

"It sounds like you did an amazing job."

[checks pocket watch] "So, I guess I need to bring up an uncomfortable topic before we end the session."

"Um, ok."

"I've decided I am going to take a break from therapy. I'm in a good place---"

"This is about the hearing." [back stiffens, she sits erect]

"Well, yes, of course it is. It's been a lot to take in. Nothing compared to what you're dealing with, I know, I know, but I---"

"I wish I didn't invite you. If I knew this would be the result, I wouldn't have---"

"I know, I understand. I mean, neither of us expected what happened. But because of it, you know, the nature of our relationship has changed. I mean, I feel more like a colleague or friend, and it's just---"

"What did you think coming the hearing was going to accomplish for you?"

"________, you know, I wanted to be supportive."

"You asked if you could come. I think---"

"You kept bringing it up in our meetings, so I thought you wanted support, and I wanted to be supportive, and of course I was curious, given what I study, and I---"

"Well, I don't think you're being very supportive now."

[angrily] "This is not about your feelings, _______. The roles here are getting mixed up. I don't pay you $100 an hour to work-through your feelings."

"True. But we have to work through this, together. That's what therapy is about."

"But I don't want to work through it. I mean, this is not garden-variety resistance---I've been with you for five years. I'm just emotionally exhausted, and I want to put this to the side and focus on my work and---"

"I think you're being very underhanded about this."

[stifling an f-bomb] "I'm sorry you feel that way."

"To move to a higher level of healing, health, and maturity, the right thing to do is work with me through this."

"I'm sorry ________. Let me be very clear. Over these many years my time with you has been tremendously helpful. I've learned I'm a "feminine" soul, and a sensitive person, and empathetic. And I've learned some of the triggers for my insecurities. I've just learned a lot. You have helped me to learn alot about myself, and I'm very grateful for this time, this time we have had together. And I wouldn't change that for anything."

"Good. I am happy to hear that. And my door is open to you, when you're ready to come back and work through this. [stands] Well, enjoy the rest of your summer" [accepts check].

"Goodbye."

[curtly] "Bye bye."

on friendship, continued

Music: This Mortal Coil: Filigree & Shadow (1986)

[T]he great canonical meditations on friendship . . . are linked to the experience of mourning, to the moment of loss.
---Jacques Derrida, The Politics of Friendship

This past weekend was a social one. Strangely, in many moments, surrounded by the friendly, I felt estranged---or at least a certain kind of distance. This was not a continuous sense of apartness, just the fleeting sort of alienation in which one thinks to oneself, after eating a brain-bud of cauliflower dipped in something fattening, " I don't think there is but one or two people here I could call if I were in jail."

I don't regularly have such thought experiments in a crowded room, but for some reason my mind went there. Well, y'all know I do know the reasons, but I'm not about to be that disclosive on a public blog. Even so, think about it: finding yourself in jail is embarrassing, whether it is for the right reasons (civil disobedience) or the wrong ones (DWI). Whom would you feel comfortable calling? For most of us, I suspect, we could count the friends we trust with that sort of embarrassment on one hand.

Different scene, same weekend: I happened to be in a crowded living room---a space of intimacy, the space of friendship---and I noticed the virtual's sporadic colonization of the meat: instead of looking at and speaking with others present, three guests were staring down at their laps into the liquid crystal portal of an iPhone, connecting to the absent other (or rather, presencing them, as if to expand the living room to ghosts of [an]otherwhere).

I have been in intimate conversations when someone suddenly attended their mobile "networking" device. This is increasingly common.

I realize that in our now "networked" culture, the norms of public intimacy are changing---few would question this. But as unique as our smart-phoned socialization is, I tend to recoil to my (post)structural habits: such feelings of alienation (however minor) amplify already rooted modes of intimacy. Last year, in preparation to a visit with a friend's class at another university, I read Derrida's The Politics of Friendship, and it's been murmuring in the background of my mind all of this time. In preparation for an essay revision this weekend, I've been reading Joshua Meyrowitz's No Sense of Place, a classic and incredibly prescient rumination on the ways in which electronic media are reconfiguring our understanding of intimacy, public and private. My social experiences this weekend somehow made these two books have a conversation with each other in my head.

Many years ago I ruminated on the topic of friendship, by way of Aristotle. Thousands of years ago "The Brain" characterized friends into three camps, which really reduce to two: there are the friends for whom you wish the best, and then, friends of "utility." The lingo of social networking has really brought such distinctions into naked relief: on Facebook, you have "friends" in your social network. The majority of them are friends of utility. These are friends who you would never dream of calling when you are in jail. A very small minority of one's Facebook friends are real friends---those whom you would call and detail things that reveal an innermost (human) flaw.

I got to thinking: what are the ethics of networked friendship? Friendship implies a complicated apparatus of logics over a plane of intimacy. All of us know that "friending" someone on Facebook is, at some remove, a routine gesture: "Oh, yes, I know this person. Why not?" But the word "friend" itself carries with it a certain meaning that is not evacuated by the superficial gesture. For example, about a year ago I went through my "friends" on Facebook and deleted those people whom I rarely spoke to in "real," meat space. One of them emailed me immediately, professing hurt. This was not a person I would ever dream of asking to bail me out of jail. Yet, she protested that I had violated some sort of tacit bond. And so I "re-friended" her. (Case in point: I would not expect her to read this blog.)

This networked dynamic of intimacy is unquestionably yoked to the conception of "friend." The word itself carries a certain force, an intimate force that afflicts us with a profound unconscious gravity that the electronic interface encourages us to ignore. I'm just not sure how to make sense of it. In some ways, I suppose I am privileged (as are many of you) by having grown up in a non-Internet era---I can feel, in my body, in my bones, the difference between interpersonal or perhaps "vocal" intimacy and that of the digital kind. Perhaps there is a distinction to be made between "analog" and "digital" forms of intimacy, and the ways in which either mode configures friendship. For example, "friend or no friend" versus degree of likeness might be a way in which we could differentiate the two. Understanding friendship in terms of degree, seems to me, the meat-space norm, contrasts starkly with the "yes" or "no" province of the digital.

That said, there is something about the character of friendship (for me, at least), which resists the binarist view. Friendship is (and should be) messy. For those of you unfamiliar with Derrida's book on friendship, a large portion of it is dedicated to examining the political theories of Carl Schmitt, a German thinker whose most famous essay, "The Concept of the Political," defines politics as an essential discernment between "friend and enemy." Derrida upends such as distinction, as you might imagine, in The Politics of Friendship. But his point is not to dismiss Schimitt. Rather (at least as I understand it), his point is to show how Schmitt lays bare the way in which the political depends on such a binary---how the friend is conceived of the Aristotelian sense of "utility," how "friend" is coded as a "like me" that evacuates difference. That the notion of "friend" entails a certain kind of contractarian thinking that abhors the degree.

Or as George W. Bush made famous, "you are either with us, or against us."

Such a logic seems to be underwriting the Facebook "friend" mentality. If I neglect to add you as a "friend," then I am in some sense your enemy. With Facebook and similar social networking interfaces, we are witnessing the emergence of a new form of blackmail. Although I would readily ascent to the objections of my more Foucauldian/Deleuzian, Tornoto-school media ecologist colleagues that new technologies open new possibilities for friendship (few of us would deny, for example, that Facebook has only made it easier to keep in touch with those friends we would call from jail), still, new intimacies trend toward new alienations.

And this brings me back to the notion of intimacy and interface: to what degree is social networking pushing us into a Schmittian understanding of friendship? To what extent has our rapid connectivity rendered our connection as such a valued mode of intimacy? Or worse, as the authentic signature of depth? To what extent does engaging at the level of "status statements" come to replace the laughter of two friends having lunch?

I don't know. I'm just thinking aloud.

One of the fundaments of Derrida's essay is that friendship is "cultural cannibalism" (to borow a term from Penelope Deutscher) When we have a friend, that friend is "appropriated" as part of ourselves. This is why Derrida suggests that to think about friendship entails a certain mourning: when we lose a friend to death, we experience the loss as a loss of self. We "consume" or "eat" our friends---they become a part of us. This is inevitable. The ethical reckoning is the realization that the incorporated friend "is not me," that he or she is different, a discrete or unique being that we cannot say is "one" with our being. And yet, when I look to my Facebook homepage, I see I have incorporated hundreds of "friends," many if not most of whom I could only mourn in their sameness or continuity with myself---that is, that I "know" them, that they are part of who "I know" and therefore part of self. In my accumulation of "friends" on Facebook, because of the term itself, I confront a strange guilt.

I think Aristotle was wise. For him, a true friend is one for whom you wish the best---sometimes at the expense of your own happiness. That is a respect for uniqueness. Social networking blurs the distinction that we must necessarily make between levels of friendship to be ethical persons, the distinction we must make between friends with whom we share a life---our sadness especially---and those with whom we are commingled for utility or circumstance. The irony of the binarist logic of friendship is that it forces an enemy when there need not be one. "Friending" on Facebook participates in an underlying logic of discrimination that, I'm coming to realize, is more alienating than I first supposed; it is premised on the possibility of an enemy, a zero. And publicizes it.

it's synth-pop friday!

various randomness of blah blah

Music: radio in German Auto Center (currently "Big Country")

back to ramen

I'm sitting, again, in the car repair shop. Not two days after I got my car out of the shop (replaced a bad water pump and timing belt for a tidy sum of $994.00), the "check engine" light came on again. I ran the car by Auto Zone for a free computer reading, and I'm hoping it's a camshaft sensor that was knocked loose during the last repair. If it's the actual camshaft I will have officially evacuate what little savings I have left after this past year (car repairs, unexpected hospital bill from two years ago, air conditioner repair, and other more-than-normal expenses have taken their toll). Since last July, repairs have cost me almost eight grand. I have a 2001 Volkswagen Golf 1.8 Turbo. Do not buy one of these.

Yes, I know I could have bought a new car by now. But, this one's almost paid off. And once you start pouring money into a car, you think, "well, if I spend this then it will last me two more years," and so on. It's the psychology of car repair, I suppose. Then, before you know it, you've spent so much you cannot justify a new car---you ain't got anything left for a down payment. And so, I will not get a new car next year as I had planned. Must wait two years to justify . . . .

I'm still researching what I want. My inner fetishist wants the Volvo C30. You know, I have this thing for Swedes. But I realize that repair bills for this thing will be akin to my Golf five years in (after the warranty expires; reliability ratings for the c30 are mediocre). So, I will probably shoot for something more, you know, practical, since the sport car hatchback want isn't really a need. Subaru?

take it to the scene, like a teaching machine

Today was the second day of class. I had my graduate seminar in rhetorical criticism yesterday, and things seemed to go well. I'm very excited I only have six students. Six! In eight years as a professor I have never had a graduate class with only six students. This makes me happy to no end, and a more intimate experience will be very nice for a change.

My undergraduate course on "Celebrity Culture," of course, is the opposite: 190 students and counting. On the first day I lecture about the seedy side of celebrity, for the most part. I talked about the death of Michael Jackson, cultural fantasies (namely, tragedy), and rounded it all out with a discussion of narcissism and the Octomom. Some students looked bored. Some looked shocked. And so---with nods to Ellen Goodman---it goes.

de-privation

Bad news about the budget trickles in slowly at UT---it's like a slowly moving tide that has finally gotten just below the knees. They say we'll never get up to our neck. Regardless, the university is doing all sorts of things to brace for cuts Gov. Perry has threatened. Folks have been "let go," mostly staff. Some programs were cut or dissolved. A new "early retirement incentive" program pays you a lump sum has been installed. Faculty identified as "research inactive" will be forced to shift from a 2-2 to a 3-3 teaching load (whoa, won't it be fun determining what "research inactive" actually means!).

One of the more unfortunate decisions that has been made concerns raises: merit pay raises have been frozen for, um, three years. The administration has decided to give out bonus checks in November to the most productive faculty to improve morale (based on the average of last two year's performance. Notably, unlike salary enhancement, bonus checks are taxed as supplementary pay (%25)---and you don't always get that back with returns.

Despite intentions, this approach is manifestly terrible for morale. It's the kind of decision someone who makes six figures believes makes people happy---just like the stimulus check Obama sent when he got to office. It feels like a bone (and not a spirited one). Most folks would much rather just continue the freeze with the hope merit pay may return down the road. My colleagues and I voted to keep our ratings for as many years as it takes until we can turn them into real raises. I'm sure many departments are not doing that. And my worst fear: that this bonus system becomes the reward system, permanently. A friend and colleague says that this kind of crisis opportunity is never reversed in the business world, and insofar as the university is now a corporation, we should not expect things to be different. I hope he is wrong.

Finally, every faculty person I know would give up merit pay to save some staffers. No one, of course, was asked.

Now, I'm not whining---or if I am, it's not because I think something can be done, or because I think this or that person is at fault. The problem with systemic crises is that the response is usually also systemic. Sure, someone not thinking right came up with this bonus idea, but that idea is also part of corporate culture in a broader context. I imagine for those of you teaching at state colleges and universities, this is all familiar. Every school is addressing the cash-flow problem in various ways, none of which are pleasant. And, in a meeting with the dean this week, there's not much we can do because we don't know what the legislature is going to do. Arts and education usually get whacked. Perry is apparently sitting on a major budgetary crisis in an election season, so gosh knows what's gonna happen. Frankly: I hope the Longhorns do well this fall; the better they play, the better chance we'll have in education . . . .

fall rush

Fall semester always seems busier than spring semester, much of which has to do with the bang of beginnings and the whimper of the end. It seems like every deadline is in the fall, every demand for service hits the heaviest in the fall, and so on (May, however, is Defense Month). If I ever get some sort of semblance of a sabbatical---some kind of leave, which I really really think would stave off burn-out---it seems to make the most sense to take it in the spring. In spring, there are less demands on one's time. Well. I am cramming this weekend to make some grant and fellowship deadlines, so I'm thinking ahead. Yes, with a project like mine (NEH review termed it "ghoulish") I don't have a chance, but I gotta try just in case by the time I finally finally finish the damn book the "weird" will be normal and I can spend a semester writing the next book . . . .

Ugh. Whatever. Blah. Gotta try and write tonight.

yet even more american home shield blues

Music: Christian Death: Ashes (1985)

Well, the life of the 30-something academic is so exciting!

I admit at one level I feel pathetic continuing to update my adventures with home repair or, as Rob Persig might write, The Art of Air Conditioner Maintenance. On the scale of life's many pains in the arse, this really does rank low. I know. My grandmother is on her deathbed. Writing about that would be much more relevant to everyone--including me. And I fear that will come. That is important writing.

But sometimes, I feel a kinship with Andy Rooney. Really, I do. We share some issues with eyebrows. And we delight in the art of the frivolous complaint. (Needless to say, I am one of those people who love Andy Rooney. I know most folks find him annoying; I find him incredibly endearing. I'd love to go to a ball game with the guy.)

This week a colleague and I edited essays for a special "forum" section of a journal in my field, I tied-up loose ends on course prep for this week, and had a couple of orientation meetings. While all this was going on, my patience was tested in respect to my air conditioner. Just to be clear: thankfully, the air conditioner is working. We're having triple digits in Austin, so more than a few people have expressed concerns about my "safety." No worries folks: it's chilling. The problem is that it's chilling a bit too well---so well, in fact, the air handler is sweating water into my guest bathroom ceiling. This is bad for two reasons: (a) it has created water damage; and (b) it encourages mold. I'm fiercely allergic to the latter, so getting this problem resolved is becoming a top priority.

As I've already detailed in previous posts, this problem has been going on since late May. Because it makes no good sense to get angry about this, I've gone the route of comedy. I've discovered, in fact, going with the comedic frame has really been, well, sorta fun. If I only tackled all my irritations in this way---I think I'd sleep better. Anyhoo, for this route, I've employed an Olympus "Digital Voice Recorder" and a handy earpiece; I've grown quite fond of this little recorder (about the size of a credit card). In the state of Texas, it's legal to record conversations, telephonic and otherwise, as long as at least "one party" consents. I've decided that I constitute that party who consents. And so for the past month I've been recording my conversations with AHS, technicians, and customer service representatives. In general, the conversations are not very funny or interesting. It's the shear volume of them that invites a giggle.

So, (shout out to my bud Gretch), here's the rest of the story: in May a repairman installed a new air handler to fix the water leak. The air handler, however, was the wrong size. It's 1.5 tons, while my condenser is 2.0 tons. While one part of the "leak" was fixed (bad fitting), the new air-handler created it's own water problem---it can't handle the power of the condenser. The company that installed the wrong size air-handler, Dave's Heating and Air, refused to come back out to address the problem. AHS called out their lawyers on him, apparently. Dave's then agreed to come out, however, it's been a weeks-long headache: they don’t call back, they schedule to come out, and then break the schedule. Here's how it went:

1. Wednesday, August 18th: Pam from AHS calls to check up on the situation. Dave was supposed to come on Monday the 16th, however, Kayla from Dave's called on Monday to say he wasn’t going to make the appointment. Here's her message. I phoned her back and left a message that we rescheduled for Dave to come out on Thursday between 9:00 a.m. and noon. Let me just say that, through this whole ordeal, Pam has rocked.

2. Thursday, August 19th (approx. 2:40 p.m.): Dave was supposed to be out in the morning before noon, but . . . he never showed. I had to be somewhere at 4:00 p.m., so I phoned Dave's as we neared the 3:00 p.m. hour to inquire. "Kim" answered and reported there was another emergency, and that we needed to reschedule. I reported I'd be home the next day, on Friday, but that I had an appointment at 1:00 p.m., so I'd only be around until 12:30 or so. Kim said Dave would be out before then. Here's the call.

3. Friday, August 20th (approx. 10:50 a.m.): Dave didn't show on Friday morning, and I was concerned he wasn’t gonna make it. I told Kim I'd have to split by 12:30, so I assumed Dave would be there before noon---and it was looking like more of the same. Instead of calling Dave's, I decided to call Pam at AHS to put on the pressure. Here's the message I left.

4. Friday, August 20th (approx. 11:45 a.m.): Kim from Dave's phones to tell me Dave is on the way. She said she had me "down" for an appointment between 10 and 1:00 p.m. I reminded her I had an appointment at 1:00 p.m., and would need to leave by 12:30. Here's the call.

5. Friday, August 20th (approx. noon): Not two seconds after I hang up with Kim, Pam from AHS phones. She reports that she called Dave's and put on the pressure. She also told me that she was no longer able to help me resolve the issue, and has punted the case up to "executive office" and escalated the case to "our research department." I tell her that Dave is apparently on the way, and fill her in on the back-story a bit. She says I should expect a call next week from the "research department." I am sad to see Pam go. She seemed to give a flip. Here's the call.

5. Friday, August 20th (approx. 12:15): To use a southern idiom, low and behold Dave himself arrives at the door, with only fifteen minutes to spare. I decide to be as nice as I can be, and to probe Dave a bit about his side of the story. Dave says that AHS is the one who ordered the wrong part; it's very clear that he is passing the blame on to AHS. At first, when he's inspecting, you'll hear him trying to figure out how to do as little as possible. He suggests adding a second condensation pan (which is ridiculous). I finally offer to hire a carpenter to open up the ceiling and patch it up. He then agrees that putting in the right size part is the way to go. Here's the recording.

6. Friday, August 20th (approx. 12:30): Dave leaves. He reiterates he will call AHS to order the correct size handler and have it installed. Now, let me just say this: Dave's diagnosis is the original diagnosis he gave back in June: we'd have to open up the ceiling and install something that is much larger than the original. He told me the exact same thing the first time he came out. He also said that AHS is the one who ordered the smaller 1.5-ton (that is, wrong size) air handler the first time. While he seems like a nice fellow, I'm not so sure this is AHS's error. I suspect he is the one who ordered the wrong size in the first place. It will be interesting to see how AHS responds. Thankfully, I now have Dave "on tape" saying that it was AHS who ordered the wrong part. I also have Dave's customer service reps---Kayla and Kim---distorting the truth on tape. Memory is choosy. Recording, well: recording imprints what was actually said. Here's Dave's parting remarks.

it's synth-pop friday!

FEMME EN FOURRURE - PLUMP BISQUIT from Top Billin on Vimeo.

even more american home shield blues

Music: Cocteau Twins: Blue Bell Knoll (1988)

Picking up where I last left off, my ever-persistent attempts to have my air conditioner repaired continue in this triple-digit Austin heat. The short version of the story thus far: in June I discovered my upstairs air handler was leaking water into the ceiling, creating water damage. Dave's Heating and Air was called out by my home warranty company, who replaced the air handler with a new one---but the leaking continued. AHS subsequently called out two additional, different companies, both of whom concluded thusly: the air handler Dave's installed is 1.5 tons, while my compressor is 2 tons. Consequently, the air handler cannot really "handle" the strength of the compressor's chilling, and is thus generating condensation like the proverbial sex worker in church. AHS wants Dave's to address the problem, since they made the mistake. Dave's, however, doesn't want to do the job. AHS called their lawyers out, and Dave's reluctantly agreed to come back out.

Or, at least, that's what Dave's was telling AHS.

On last Wednesday (August 11th), my fearless AHS representative "Pam" phoned to tell me that Dave's agreed to come out and within the week. Of course, Dave's did not call on Wednesday to make an appointment.

On Thursday, however, I returned from a screening of Inception to discover a business card from Dave's on my patio, as well as a caller ID indication that they phoned about 6:30 p.m. in the evening.

1. August 13, 2010 (approx. 10 a.m.): On Friday I decided to call Dave's to inquire about their visit on Thursday evening, when I wasn't home. I got Kayla again, whom I confess I lost my temper with. I tried to suggest that if they are going to come to my home, they should make sure I'm here and give me due warning. Kayla tried to suggest that she had set up an appointment with me for Thursday---which, of course, was not true (I have, er, all these audio recordings to prove it). I'm not sure if her memory is choosy, or if there's an attempt at deception here. Either way, our conversation was interesting. It ended with a familiar statement: Kayla will get with Dave and get back with me. Here's the call.

2. August 13, 2010 (approx. 11:30 a.m.): I called AHS and left a message for Pam after I got off the phone with Kayla. Pam called on her own, however, to follow-up. I reported the phone call I had with Kalya that morning (notably, I misremembered some of the details; isn't memory choosy in one's favor?). Pam vowed to contact "contract relations" again and to put pressure on Dave's to make an appointment. Here's the call

3. August 14, 2010 (approx. 8:30 p.m.): Kayla phones to let me know Dave can come by on Monday the 16th to diagnose the problem. Here's the call

4. August 16, 2010 (approx. 3:45 p.m.): Kalya phones to say that Dave is running behind; we reschedule for Thursday morning. Here's the call

There is a great song for my experience. With a smile:

hollister is (for) the pits!

Music: Neko Case: Middle Cyclone (2009)

Many years ago my friend Mirko and I were in a shopping mall. We walked past an Ambercrombie & Fitch store, dance music blaring from the entrance. I've always felt a bit sheepish walking into this kind of store because, well, I'm too old to lurk in this kind of space and, frankly, the clothes have never appealed to me. Nothing is more annoying than having to scream at a check-out clerk because you cannot hear him or her (usually a her) because of the BOOM BOOM BOOM of the store tunes. (I confess I know this because I used to go to A&F once or twice a year to buy a cologne I really liked ["Woods"], which they discontinued). "Look!" said Mirko, pointing to the billboard-size graphic plastered on wall at the store's entrance. "Maschalingus!" he said.

"What?"

"Mas-kel-ling-gess," he replied slowly, with a smirk. "Doncha wanna lick his armpit?" He pointed to the graphic, which depicted a shirtless, toned, hairless, young man with his left arm raised; he has virtually no underarm hair, which is not usual for U.S. men. Women, yes, but not men. Mirko explained that A&F frequently featured men's arm pits in their ads.

In the years since this pit-sighting, I've noticed a preponderance of pits in A&F advertisements---so much so the raised pit seems to be something of a signature for A&F (oh, and the hairless body and relative absence of women). I first became aware of A&F's advertising ever since a controversy broke over the A&F quarterly catalog (I bought the issue that was forbidden for folks under 18, primarily because Slavoj Zizek wrote the ad copy, but also because of the half-naked people); like Calvin Klein, A&F pushed the envelope by using naked people to ironically advertise their clothes, and I found their approach amusingly queer. I never noticed, however, all the pits. That is, until Mirko pointed it out. And now that I've pointed them out to you, you're going to notice them---like, everywhere.

At a recent wedding I was discussing A&F's pits with some friends, and more than one seemed surprised. "Really? Arm pits?" So, I thought I'd discourse here a bit about pittage---or rather, what is termed mascahlophilia, the love of armpits. Let me go on record to say that I find this "love" amusing and am not personally prone to being aroused by armpits (usually the opposite), although there's nothing wrong with that. It's a classic example of the "fetish," a term usually reserved for shoes or breasts in Western culture. For some reason A&F advertisers have decided the armpit would be their signature advertising fetish---or at least one of them (there's the whole Aryan controversy to contend with as well, of course).

So why did A&F advertisers choose the armpit? The answer has something to do with the concept of the fetish itself. Papa Freud first theorizes the fetish in his Three Essays on the Theory of Sexaulity, in which he examines the strange attraction of a piece of fur as a kind of substitute for childhood memories of the parental crotch (which is hairy and unlike that of the child's):

The replacement of the object by a fetish is determined by a symbolic connection of thought, of which the person usually is not conscious. . . . No doubt the part played by fur as a fetish owes its origin to an association with the hair of the mons veneris . . . . Symbolism such as this is not always unrelated to sexual experiences in childhood.

Well, of course, there's plenty room for doubt about some sort of actual memory of mum's (or dad's, or whomever's) crotch. But Freud's point is that a snatch of "fur" can trigger a memory of such a region in a way that is not conscious. In his book Fetish: An Erotics of Culture, Henry Krips continues:

The function of the fetish is as much that of a screen as a memorial. That is, it stands in the place of that which cannot be remembered directly. It substitutes for that which is and must remain repressed (verdrangt). As such, the fetish is also a site of disavowal (Verleugnung), and specifically of contradiction: we know that fur is not pubic hair, but even so, in a way that is never clearly specified, we know that it is . . . .

And, so, there you have it. Why the armpit? Because, it is both a reminder and a screen from the act of sexual intercourse. The classic (if not tired) reading of A&F's use of armpits is that it is a classic metonym (metōnymía, "a change of name"). If A&F cannot show a nude crotch, the armpit is a good substitute: it's culturally regarded as somewhat "dirty," yet not offensive. It can be shaved to make it appear "clean" and devoid of "fur," and still, it does the trick of innuendo---just like shoes might do in other contexts. (For example, Carrie Bradshaw has a thing for Manolos in a show titled Sex in the City). If you're going to market clothing to the Great Teen-Age and you wanna use sex to sell, the last stop on the way to pornography is . . . the armpit.

Needless to say, any google search of "armpit fetish" will turn up countless hyperlinks to websites devoted to mascahlophallation and mascalophilemia. It's a little noticed undercurrent in our culture, but once that undercurrent is pointed out, you start to notice it is ubiquitous in the advertising world.

The deodorant industry thus takes on a new valence. Of course, smelling someone's underarm odor is, for most folks, unpleasant (especially in the workplace, and especially if it's not your own). But sometime in the 20th century visual rhetoric came into the picture, so to speak. The "Dry Idea" brand of deodorant advertised their products under the slogan, "never let them see you sweat," and commercials began to air in that linked confidence with dry pits. Somehow wet pits have come to signify a lack of self-control---a form of incontenence.

And so, well, there you are. Pitiful bloggin', I know.

it's synth-post-punk friday!

publishing: even newer irritations about bailing reviewers

Music: Sunshine (Music From the Motion Picture) (2008)

Since Rosechron has gone serial, I might as well continue the narrative of the manuscript I have in review at the moment. As I detailed in late June, I have had a piece in review for a very long time: at a previous journal, it took a year to get reviews back, but then the editor stepped-down, so I pulled it. At the new outlet, I inquired after thirteen weeks "where we are in the process." The editorial assistant's response was unintentionally insulting, which inspired a blog post about the responsibilities of timely blind reviewing.

A few days ago I thought I'd inquire again:

From: Joshua Gunn [slewfoot@mail.utexas.edu]
Sent: Monday, August 09, 2010 12:48 PM
To: Editorial Assistant
Cc: Editor
Subject: RE: Journal Title

Dear ___________,

I submitted my manuscript, "________________" twenty weeks ago today. I'm writing to ask, again, where we are in the process of review. You'll recall I inquired about six weeks ago.

Sincerely,

Josh

Instead of hearing back from the assistant, however, the editor (whom I cc'd) responded almost immediately with a kind message:

<

Date: Mon, 09 Aug 2010 19:17:29 -0400
From: Editor
Subject: Journal Title
To: Joshua Gunn , Editorial

Dear Josh,

I'm so sorry for the delay with your manuscript. One review has been completed. The other referee notified me early in the summer that s/he would be unable to complete the review. As I'm sure you can understand, summer can be a difficult time to secure reviews, and my invitation to review your piece has only recently been accepted by a second referee. I would like your manuscript to benefit from two reviews, and thus I hope that you will be able to wait a while longer.

I appreciate your patience and please don't hesitate to contact me if you have further questions.

best,

Editor

This is exactly how editors should respond to author-queries: it is kind in tone, begins with an apology, and explains the reason for the delay. If only all editors would respond (if at all) to authors in such a professional way, the academic world would be a happier place.

That said, two questions come to mind: (1) why is it that bailing on reviews is such a common practice (at least in my experience), and are these absentees ever punished or called on the carpet for this? and (2) at what point does an editor need to step in an simply make a call?

Of course, I'm hoping Mary is lurking and might offer some perspective here regarding both questions. Regarding both: in my experience bailing reviewers is common. For example, my and Tom's essay on Fight Club, recently published in the Western Journal of Communication, had two rounds of reviews at a previous journal. At that journal, a reviewer delayed and then bailed in the first round; and then, in the second round yet another reviewer bailed or simply failed to produce a review; it was about eight months. Tom and I pulled the essay. It was our belief that the editor should have simply read the review she had in hand and made the call herself. I'm of the mind, in general, that an editor who cannot make a call after six months---certainly a year---of reviewing is a weak editor.

I don't quite know why reviewers bail on reviews. Laziness comes to mind most readily, but I suspect unexpected accidents, family issues, and so forth play a big part. When I was at LSU, I had a piece fail to finish the review process because the editor had a "nervous breakdown." (This happens more than folks think; I can think of two other editors off the cuff who also had breakdowns.)

Perhaps a more generous speculation is that bailing reviewers are concerned about fairness: insofar as my writerly "voice" is recognizable, it could be that after a reviewer gets into the middle of the piece she figures out my identity and decides it's difficult to pretend blindness and then begs off. I've had this happen before myself---even as recently as two weeks ago. I got in the middle of the review and realized I knew the author (who is a cherished friend). The way I handled this situation, however, is perhaps not typical---but it is what I usually do: I completed the review, and then sent it to the editor and said, "I know who the author is, but I think I was fair in my review; I will not be troubled if you decide to seek a replacement for me, however." My reason for doing this is quite simple: rhetorical studies---well, even communication studies---is a small field. The longer you're in it, the more likely it is you are going to know the author. This is especially the case, for example, with scholars who rely heavily on, say, Gilles Deleuze in their work. I can think of, maybe, seven or ten people who have the background to make a judgment about Deleuzian theory in "our field." Same goes for psychoanalysis, Nietzsche, presidential address, and so forth.

Even so, barring these possible reasons, bailing on reviewing an essay you agreed to review is much worse than being late. In general, I think there should be a stigma to it. I think editors should keep lists of such people, and then pass these lists on to succeeding editors. I think reviewers who bail on reviewing manuscripts should be talked about at conferences so that their reputation is suitably besmirched. In my view, bailing reviewers are just as bad as those professors you have had who never return term papers to students. (On that score, I'll admit I'm very slow---but my students do eventually get their papers back). In a word---and bracketing for the moment the above reasons---bailing on a review is shameful.

more american homeshield blues

Music: I Love You But I've Chosen Darkness: Fear Is On Our Side

I've been proofing and editing essays all day; fortunately this task can be completed while I wait on hold with the speakerphone, so I resumed my attempts to get American Home Shield (and affiliated companies) to repair my sweating upstairs air conditioner. As the back story demonstrates, the original repair call was made in June.

As an aside, I realize much of this chronicle is not "ha-ha" funny. I think, however, the shear cumulative effect of all the phone calls---the hours upon hours spent on hold and talking to representatives and technicians and so forth---is nothing short of comedy. It may veer into the absurd. Let's wait and see!

One more aside: when making these phone calls, I did try to follow two rules: (1) I will not lose my temper and will strive to be as nice as I can be; and (2) I will try to keep the person on the phone as long as I possibly can. These folks have put me through, I estimate, about a week combined of phone work and waiting (for technicians, etc.); why not return the favor?

In the last installment of this bluesy yarn of meh telephonic tenacity, I had phoned AHS last Monday, Wednesday, and Friday to inquire about who would be coming out to repair my AC. I was previously told via email on July 26th it would be Dave's Heating and Air (that's their logo to the left), the company that originally diagnosed the problem as a decrepit air handler, and which they replaced. Every call last week resulted in the same response from the AHS customer service representative: "Dave's Heating and Air will be calling you to set-up an appointment." Last Friday I was even told by AHS that "Kayla from Dave's is going to call you right now!" It's clear that Dave's AC is stalling and lying to AHS.

I decided to wait a few days before I tried my stealthy telephonic approach to this debacle this week. Today I scanned through my old caller ID numbers, as I remembered Dave had called me from his "on the road" cell phone a couple of times. When I was having trouble getting his company to call me back, I even phoned on July 5th (a holiday for many), and he sounded a little irritated. So, here's where it all started today (requires Windows Media Player):

1. August 11, 2010 (approximately 10:00 a.m.): I phone Dave. Here's the call. Apparently Dave has discontinued this cell number. I wonder if it was because of my calling him when his office didn't call me back on the last couple of repairs ?

2. August 11, 2010 (approximately 10:30 a.m.): After coming to the conclusion that I was not misdialing, I looked up and phoned Dave's AC. Kayla answered. When I repeatedly asked why she has not called back, I was put on hold. Here's the call.

I'm trying to restrain my self from commenting on the calls, as they sort of speak for themselves, but this is one of the more amusing conversations. First, Kayla says the woman I should talk to "just left the room" and I could hold or she could call me back. When I decide to press her, I'm put on hold again and the automatic recording begins, "whatever it takes, we're dedicated to providing excellent service . . . ." There's even a moment when she picks up from hold and then decides she's not ready and puts me back on hold. Evasive? Nahhhh.

3. August 11, 2010 (approximately 11:00 a.m.): Kayla at Dave's said that she would have to call me back, as she needed to speak with Dave first about the situation. She said Dave and AHS were in discussions and she didn't know what to tell me. So, I decided to work the other end and call AHS. I got a great customer service representative this time---perhaps the most helpful to date. Her name is Pam. Here's the call.

4. August 11, 2010 (1:35 p.m.): Pam phoned my cell phone (which I never answer) and left a message. Apparently she contacted the "contract department" (doublespeak for lawyer-based unit) who contacted Dave, who in turn promised to come out and re-inspect the unit for diagnosis. Here's the message.

Well, friends. We shall see. We. Shall. See.

those american home shield blues . . . continued

Music: Friendly Fires: [self-titled] (2008)

Continuing where I left off---and following through on my promise to make this an audio enterprise (requires a Windows media-player compatible plug-ins on your browser).

1. Monday, August 2nd: I phone AHS and reach Tia. I ask Tia to contact Valencia via email, as Valencia said I should do this if I call back. Here's the call.

2. Wednesday, August 4th: I have not heard back from Valencia, so I phoned AHS and spoke with Tamika. Tamika got a little confused. I don't blame her. Here's the call.

3. Wednesday, August 4th: Tamika kindly offers to phone be back when she finds out what's going on. Here's the call.

4. Friday, August 6th: Dave's Heating and Air never phones to schedule an appointment as Tamika said should happen. So, I phone AHS and (who I think is) Patricia. She phones Dave's and the person there, Kayla, tells her that she is going to call me "right now" (it was around noon) to schedule something. Here's the call.

Kayla did not call.

it's synth-pop friday!

psychoanalyzing the tea party

Music: Marvin Gaye: What's Goin' On? (1972)

Yesterday afternoon a colleague leaned into my office doorway and asked: "So, Josh. Put the Tea Party on the couch. What's your diagnosis?" My reaction was similar to that of many folks I've talked to: "Well, it's a little bit too easy, isn't it? It's an organization of affect around one simple, adolescent or infantile experience: someone took my hap-penis away! (Or as we might say in reference to the tattoo here, "who's my daddy?") The problem, of course, was that there was nothing to be taken away to begin with, a classic object-cause of desiring if there ever was. In other words, whatever is or is in danger of being taken away is interchangeable with another thing; when a kid throws tantrum for candy it's not about the candy.

My colleague (who studies political communication, and whom I dare not mention by name or I will invite the wrath of colleague's wedded partner, who lectured me about not blogging about him or his spouse last night) . . . where was I? Oh yes, my colleague and I discussed our mutual befuddlement about the what the Tea Party wants. From just about any psychoanalytic perspective---Freudian, Lacanian, Kleinian, Jungian---the motive of the Tea Partying is very clear: infantile feelings of deprivation or lack. As I said to my colleague yesterday, there are two competing affective appeals organizing U.S. politics today: (a) love your neighbor; and (b) you took my happiness away. Of course this is grossly simplistic---but so are the stories in the mainstream media on politics. History has shown, time and time again, that one appeal works much better than the other, and in a way cannot be said any better than Francis Bacon: (a) is to "will" as (b) is to "appetites." Children have no will power, only appetites. It takes an adult to cultivate strong will. Loving your neighbor is a long-term endeavor that requires steady commitment to overcome the immediate appetites of the present. Human beings are often described as more "evolved" because of psychology: we are better able to plan long-term than other animals. Of course, such an observation is questionable (if not downright wrong, given what we know about a number of species), but it is nevertheless a common one. My point is simply that "the left" and "the right" today appeal to different motives. It's Jesus versus Ayn Rand, the classic struggle between will and immediate satisfaction. A savings account versus a credit card.

Politics cannot simply be about motive. As J.M. Berstein observed this June, organized affect without a goal is simple nihilism (a point that led me to a comparison between Mel Gibson's rants and Tea Party rallies). Politics must also be about a plan, and what's so baffling about the Tea Party is that they have no plan. "Taking back the country," is not a plan. Fighting for same sex marriage is a plan. "Taking a stand against Obama's socialism" is not a plan. Demanding the feds go after Arizona's racist immigration profiling law is a plan. This lack of planning makes the Tea Party movement doubly adolescent: not only does the Tea Party betray all the affectations of a teenage clique---the best comparison I can think of is the underground punk movement of the late 70s---but they also are not yet "adult" enough to know what to do with all this discontent. Unlike the street-marching grown-ups of the left-leaning "progressives," the Tea Parties don't know what they're protesting or how to change it.

Of course, we all have those feelings of deprivation from time to time. You might say the feeling is among the most primal. As a babe we feel joy with our parent's presence, and we feel tragic anger or fear with their absence. Or, as Klein might put it: nothing pisses of an infant more than a breast that won't miraculously appear when it cries out in hunger. Bad breast! Anyway, we all have these primitive feelings of deprivation and lack (and in some sense, one might say these are "wired" into the simple will to live or survive). When we're given over to them in moments that are not framed in terms of life and death (e.g., zombie apocalypse), we tend toward feelings of injury and entitlement. As a teacher, I see injury and entitlement every semester when grades are delivered (as if getting a "B" is akin to a unyielding boob). You can also clearly see these feelings in play with following footage of a Tea Party rally:

The cause of injury: abortion; taxes; spending; heath care; Pelosi; Obama. The various (sad) interviews make it easy to see the object-cause is interchangeable---it's everything and no-thing. And the catchphrase of entitlement? "We're here to take our country back."

But from whom? I asked this same question to a member of my immediate family recently. "Them!" she said. "Who are 'them' for you?" I responded. "You know, Obama, and his people. Those people." If someone has taken your happiness away, you need to identify a someone. Socialists. Communists. The Gays. Illegal Aliens. THEM!

So, putting the Tea Party on the couch is not terribly difficult, and diagnosing the failings of this organized affect is easy as well. I think what has both my colleague and me confused is how the Tea Party has managed to keep their affect organized while neither having a plan nor a leader. Perhaps thinking through our so-called "network" society can help us to explain what we might term here the Politics of Empty Demand (with nods to Laclau), a plan-less politics of affect that the Tea Party seems to exemplify so well (and in this respect, I strongly disagree with Kevin Drum of Mother Jones, who suggests its no different from anti-New Dealists in the 30s or John Birch Society in the 60s).

For me, what is most astonishing is that no clear leader has emerged to help organize the affect of deprivation. In one of his most overlooked yet powerful studies, Group Psychology and the Analysis of the Ego (1921), Freud argues that mass movements, particularly religious and political ones, cannot be sustained over the long term without a leader. This is because the violence necessary to sustain a movement (whether it's screaming by speech, sit-ins and reactions to them, or physical aggression) cannot happen without a relaxing of social norms. Leaders of movements become the embodiment of new norms of permissibility, standing in for the internalized inhibitions of the average follower. Leaders need not be permanent, but Freud's argument, in general, is that there is one. Lacan's term for such a person, of course, is "the Master."

So, my final observation is this: the time is very ripe for a leader of the Tea Party to emerge. Such a person could readily cure the problem of lacking a plan too, thereby staving off out-right nihilism (which can be very dangerous). I predict that if a leader of some kind does not emerge within the year, this movement is going to peter out or become absorbed by the Republican party. The latter does not seem likely.

In short, I think the Tea Partiers have some Bonnie Tyler issues:

travels

Music: The Del McCoury Band: The Company We Keep (2005)

I've been back home for almost a week, but have had a little trouble finding the time to brag about my adventures in the Pacific Northwest (pesky papers to grade, course prep, textbook writing . . . cooking). I flew into Vancouver, had a vexed train ride to Tacoma, a lovely conference in Puget Sound, and returned to Vancouver for a few days of tourism. I cannot think of a more lovely place to spend July than in the Pacific Northwest, except maybe Portland or Brunswick Maine. Ok, and my trip to Boulder last summer also rocked my world. Let's just say that my eyes are opened to where I'm going to build my summer cabin when I make my millions: Vancouver? Boulder? Brunswick? I cannot decide. Rest assured the summer cabin will not be in Arizona.

Sometimes it's difficult to enjoy yourself (completely) when you know, in the back of your head, that you have a pile of work awaiting your return. I had a lot of fun in Vancouver, but the day after my return I also was greeted with an inbox of expectations. I am hoping that, perhaps, I can work toward a clean desk next summer. Then, perhaps, my dream of some kind of hiking and writing retreat in the hills of Montana can come true.

Nevertheless, instead of writing about my lovely trip, I'll let the photos tell the story. I did have a lovely time!

how to know I'm entertaining

Music: The Engineers: Three Fact Fader (2009)

it's synth-pop friday!

those american home sheild blues

Music: Camper Van Beethoven: Our Beloved Revolutionary Sweetheart (1988)

Here is a story I'm sharing based on my own notes, beginning in May. I worry I may be suing someone soon, so I had to write this narrative anyway. I thought I might share, for all you home owners out there---or those contemplating a home warranty.

In the summer of 2009 I noticed water dripping from the ceiling in my guest bathroom. The water was coming from one of two air-handlers in my home (the blowing part of the air conditioner). When I opened the access door just above the tub, about five cups of water poured out onto my head. When I bought my home in 2005 it came with a home warranty from American Home Shield (AHS). I called the company, and for a $50 fee a repairman was sent out.

Since 2005, I have paid my annual $500 home warranty bill for two reasons: (a) my home is old and falling apart; and (b) I am not Mr. Fix-it. In fact, I'm a complete idiot when it comes to repairs; I cannot even repair my toilet. I've often thought the warranty was worth my money for the piece of mind. I recently got a new stove from the warranty (although it took forever). The air conditioner incident, however, is making me question whether continuing my AHS warranty is worth it.

Last summer AHS sent out WCU Services to make the leak repair. The owner, Ron Pettit came out to survey the situation. He first said that my filters were dirty, which encouraged condensation and therefore the leaking water. He cleaned the filters and the condenser with the hose (something I do every other month or so) and went on his way. Of course, the leak continued and he came back out. On the second visit Mr. Pettit concluded my drainage was clogged, and using an air gun he blasted a bit of air in the drain to force out debris.

I woke up the next morning to find Niagara in my guest bathroom---well, not Niagara, but certainly a steady trickle of water into my bathtub and more than a trickle into the ceiling. I had about $1000 worth of ceiling water damage. AHS then called out Jones AC Service to fix the problem Mr. Pettit caused. The Jones repairman concluded that Mr. Pettit simply blew debris to one end of the drain piping, which caused the back up and therefore the flooding. He installed a brand-new drain (it empties into the bathroom sink), which solved the problem. I wanted to take Mr. Pettit to small claims court to repair my ceiling and the water damage, but Jones AC was unwilling to testify on my behalf---nor would the technician agree to put his diagnosis in writing. After checking with some lawyer friends, a $1,000 repair job wouldn't be worth my time in small claims, so I gave up (the ceiling still needs to be repaired).

Fast forward, then, to May of this year, when I noticed the familiar drip-drip-drip coming from the ceiling of the guest bathroom. I called American Home Shield again for a repairman (I am not being sexist here; in five years not once has a woman been out to my home for repairs). Initially they sent out their own company on June 5th (ARS), but after waiting all day for the person to arrive at 5:30 p.m., he refused to work on the air conditioner. It is a double-condenser unit, and they will not work on those.

I was livid, because when I phoned this in I made sure the customer service representative promised me she would find a company that would service dual compressor units. Perhaps because of my ire, I was contacted by Ashley Hudson, a "case manager" at AHS who was designated to help me. She was frequently rude in her tone on the phone, but she vowed to help. So I took her at her word.

Ms. Hudson then secured Dave's Heating and Air a couple of days later. Dave himself arrived a week later to survey the damage. He said that he thought the air handler needed to be replaced. The coil was probably very dirty and old, and the drip pan was probably rusted-out. He explained that the current air handlers are "too big" to fit into the space I currently had. He said they would have to re-do the ceiling to fit the handler into it. He said they would rebuild the access door. He didn't know if AHS would cover it, but that was his recommendation.

Dave seemed nice. He sweated a lot. He asked me about my dog, Jesús. We talked about dogs. I liked Dave.

A couple of weeks later his technician Robert came to install the new handler. They asked to get into the attic. After many hours, the handler was installed. I was surprised to see they did not tear-up the ceiling. Nor did they replace the access panel. I was upset. Robert explained that they were surprised, but they were able to get the handler in the smaller hole. I asked why they didn't replace the access panel, since the handler was bigger. He said he was told not to. He also presented me with an unexpected bill for $200 for a "disposal fee."

I phoned Dave to ask about my bill, and to inquire why my panel was not replaced as I was told. "Wendy" responded, curtly, that it was my responsibility to have "carpentry" done. I explained Dave said he was going to do this. She said she would have Dave call me back.

Dave phoned back. He explained that AHS was to contact me about replacing the panel door; they would not cover the cost. They never called me, I said. He said the cost was $100 for the door, and then $100 would be for the disposal fee.

So, I paid Robert $100 for the disposal fee.

I called Ms. Hudson and inquired as to why I was being presented with a $100 bill. She said she did not know, as my policy covered any disposal fee.

I called Dave back and explained that I thought we had a "failure to communicate" (dunno if he got the Luke reference). I said that I paid $100 for disposal, but that it was covered by my warranty. Dave said he was sorry, as he was just confused and would return the check (he did). I said I would pay him to install the correct panel access door.

Unfortunately, after Robert left I noticed the air handler was still leaking water. He was back a week later to address the problem and install the door. The door was installed. Robert explained that the leak was caused by a bad fitting, which he replaced. This was a Friday. That night, I noticed it was still leaking and phoned Dave's Heating and Air.

The next day, Robert was back with a new helper. He re-routed the draining pipes and said he thought he had fixed the problem.

He asked me about my dog, Jesús. I wasn't buying it this time. Even the love of dogs . . . (great band name, no?).

On Sunday, the next day, I noticed the unit was still leaking water. On Monday I phoned Ms. Hudson back. "Do you think we should get a second opinion?" I asked Ms. Hudson patiently. She was not happy. "Well look," I said, "they've been out here four times, and yet the problem continues. Do we want this done right? Do you want to keep dealing with me?"

So, Ms. Hudson secures the third company of the summer, Aire-Serve. When they phone to make an appointment, I tell them that I am not going to rearrange my workday until they can promise they work on dual compressor units. The scheduler says she'll need to check. She calls back: nope, they don't work on those types of units. I phone Ms. Hudson, but she's gone for the day. I phone customer service. They secure Shelton's Pride.

Shelton's Pride comes out a week later. The technician is confused. It looks like, he says, that the air handler is a 1.5 ton machine, however, the condenser outside is 2 tons. "They installed the wrong size air handler," he says. Uh-oh. There may have been a problem with the drain, but now the problem is condensation: the coolant is too powerful for the air handler, and so water is condensing on the pipes and dripping into the ceiling. Shelton's Pride recommends replacing the condenser to match the handler.

It starts to come together: Dave's Heating and Air originally was going to install a two ton handler to match the compressor, but then installed a 1.5 compressor so that they wouldn't have to replace the ceiling and panel door. In other words, they cut corners and hoped it would work.

I emailed this message to Ms. Hudson:

Date: Wed, 14 Jul 2010 17:34:46 -0500
To: AHudson@ahslink.com
From: Joshua Gunn
Subject: July 14th Update
Cc: ahswarranty

Hi Ashley,

I'm following up on our conversation around 4:20 or so today. Shelton Pride's technician Casimir came out for some time and investigated. He was very polite and great to talk to.

Casimir said the following:

1. I have a two ton compressor.

2. The newly installed air handler is 1.5 tons.

3. The air handler has no TXV valve.

In a nutshell, he said, he thinks the compressor is too big for the air handler. He is not certain however, which is why he called it back in. One or the other needs to be replaced, he said, so that their tons match up.

Dave's Heating and Air, in other words, installed an air-handler too small for the compressor. Now, when Dave did his initial estimate he said they would have to tear up the ceiling and replace the panel door, because the new handler would be too big. Yet, when they installed the handler it fit and they didn't replace the door. This makes me, of course, suspicious. I think had the right size been installed by Dave's in the first place, we would not be in this predicament.

Casimir said he has never worked on a unit like mine before. He said that he believes what is happening is that the installed handler is too small to take the amount of cold Freon that was being pumped up to it, and so it was chilling the pipes and water is condensing. He said he believed the plumbing was the best that could be done (for drainage), so the issue is either going to be the condenser or the handler.

I'm trying to be as clear as I can in these notes. I apologize if my account is confusing; I think at this point it's good to have everything we discuss in writing.

Now, the company you arranged to come out, AIRE-SERV HEATING & AC just phoned, but stated that they did NOT service dual-compressor units. Unfortunately, your office was closed. So, I called the regular service line and Bernice helped find a new company. They have assigned American Air, who apparently will try to schedule for Friday.

I'm sorry you have to keep dealing with this issue. I'm hopeful American Air will be able to properly diagnose the problem and have a solution for fixing it. I also very much liked working with Shelton's Pride. I thought their technician Casimir was quite knowledgeable and helpful.

Thank you,

Josh Gunn

This message receives no response.

American Air came out a couple of weeks ago, and the technician just kept rubbing his forehead, obviously not happy. His story confirmed that of Shelton's Pride: the handler is 1.5, but the compressor is 2 tons. Therefore, condensation is the culprit. Either the handler or the condenser should be replaced; both should match.

I phoned Ms. Hudson twice, and sent an email query. I received no response---but then had to leave town for Tacoma and Vancouver.

While in Tacoma last week, I got a call from American Air: they wanted to know what AHS said. I reported I have heard nothing for AHS. They said they would call and figure it out.

Tuesday morning I received an email that Dave's Heating and Air had been assigned a new service order---but there were no details. I phoned Ms. Hudson to ask about what was going on, but got voice mail. Later that day I phoned again and asked for Ms. Hudson. After a ten minute hold, I was informed that "your case is closed, Mr. Gunn."

"Uh, but I still have a leaking AC. How is it closed?"

"You'll need to call customer service. Case Management is no longer dealing with this work order."

So I called customer service, but the wait was like 20 minutes. I was out of town and was supposed to be exploring Vancouver. So I phoned Case Management once again. And by some miracle, guess who answered? That's right, Ashley Hudson. The rude Ms. Hudson.

I took notes during the phone call, and could produce the back-and-forth dialogue fairly accurately---but I'm tiring of writing this narrative. Here's how the conversation went, in a nutshell: "Why has my case been dismissed? Can't you help me?"

"Your case is closed, Mr. Gunn. You will have to call customer service."

I vowed then to keep Ms. Hudson on the phone as long as humanly possible, just to make her day. I kept asking why my case was closed. She eventually responded, "we don't have to tell you. That's the way it works. We are under no obligation to discuss this case with you." I expressed concern that Dave's Heating and Air was assigned to me again, but she was having none of it. She had been dealing with me for two months now, and was following some sort of protocol, but she would not budge. "This is not personal," she said. I responded that it was, that her tone was frequently rude, and that I had taken off seven days of work to deal with this issue and still had a broken air conditioner. She never apologized, for either the situation or her tone.

Two hours after my chance call to Ms. Hudson, however, I received an email that American Air had be assigned to the case. Apparently Ms. Hudson had something of a heart, and switched out Dave's for this new company.

On the way home yesterday, however, American Air phoned to say that they had been assigned the work order in error and would not be coming out.

This morning I phoned AHS customer service and got Valencia. Valencia was a bit hostile, but nothing like Ms. Hudson. Valencia put me on hold for twenty minutes (thank god for speaker phone). She came back on to report that she was speaking with Ashley Hudson and getting the details of my case.

"Uh, but Ashley said it was out of her hands and she was no longer dealing with the case."

"Ashley is a personal friend of mine, though," disclosed Valencia. And so on hold I was again for another six minutes.

When Valencia returned to me, she began by suggesting that AHS was not going to do anything because I did not allow Dave's Heating and Air access to the attic, and it was my responsibility to do so. I said that Dave's technician Robert used a ladder to get into the attack, and was up there. She then said that it was my responsibility to cut a hole to allow for the new sized air-handler. I responded that no one said I had to cut a hole, that Dave himself said he would cut a hole.

Valencia then put me on hold. She came back to report that Dave's Heating and Air was now refusing to work on the unit. She said she would need to call me back, as now she had to contact the "contract department"---basically, their legal services. To be able to assign me a new company to fix what Dave's company messed up, she had to get legal clearance.

And so, y'all are up to date. I have an AC that is thankfully working upstairs, but continuing to produce water. I've taken off of work seven days (or at least waiting around the house for seven days as I worked from home). I have had four companies this summer on the job, two last summer.

An important aside: in the state of Texas, one can record telephone conversations with the consent of only one party. I have a telephone recorder. I consent to all subsequent phone conversations with AHS. Stay tuned, I plan to broadcast.

puget sound conference

Music: Elk City: New Believers (2007)

I returned from Vancouver late last evening with a bag full of dirty clothes and a little zip-lock full of Cuban cigars. The latter makes me giddy, the former makes me lazy.

There's a lot to report about my whole trip, my new dream to have a summer home in Vancouver (fat chance---as if a teacher ever makes that much money), my beloved hosts, eating cod under a blue-blue sky, and my attraction to married people. I also have a ton of work waiting for me (I'm looking at a huge stack of papers to grade), so I'll just report at the moment on the conference in Tacoma.

The National Communication Association Conference on Teaching Rhetorical Criticism and Critical Inquiry met on the drop-dead gorgeous campus of the University of Puget Sound last Thursday evening through Sunday afternoon. (I had trouble getting to campus Thursday, so my conference started Friday morning). The conference was creatively broken into three kinds of "panels": on Friday and Saturday there were plenary sessions in the big rotunda to which everyone came, as well as concurrent sessions between the plenaries that allowed you to choose (for example, you could go to a concurrent session on "teaching rhetorical criticism in liberal arts settings" or "teaching rhetorical criticism at the research university," and so on). On Sunday there were shorter "Great Ideas for Teaching" sessions that offered exercises and teaching tips. Frankly, I thought this format was marvelous: it was varied enough that you got to move around and didn't get bored. I really appreciated the back-and-forth between larger and smaller sessions, too. If the conference were done again, I very much would recommend the format.

Like any conference, there were a number of good presentations, as well as a number of yawners---but, again, this variety provided for everyone to get something out of the conference. For example, because I teach large lecture courses, the presentations for smaller classes started to get difficult to listen to (because of personal relevance), however, I know these sessions were of most interest to those in similar situations.

I also liked the idea of the plenaries exploring larger, more philosophical topics. Of course, owing to personal bias, I thought Chris Lundberg's presentation on psychoanalysis and rhetoric was the stand-out paper of the weekend: it was smart, funny, kind, and provocative. He argued for a Lacanian approach to rhetoric that would give the subject an "ontological" foundation (is rhetoric a "science" after all?). I won't rehearse the moves here, as they'll be in his book when it comes out. His talk was just awesome.

Of course, I also quite enjoyed the panel on "cultural studies" and how this intersects with rhetorical studies. Ron Greene's was apparently the most provocative talk; he has been arguing for abandoning textualism for over a decade, but apparently this was news for a lot of folks. What he was mostly doing was redescribing the rhetorical situation as articulation/apparatus, but discussion kept going back to the critique of textualism. Nevertheless, it was enjoyable to hear the discussion.

As an aside: I was surprised by the way in which the more theoretical discussions of the weekend collapsed into "either/or" logics or "false dichotomies," if you prefer. I'm always amazed, in fact, by how some approaches to rhetoric (e.g., psychoanalysis) are seen as an enemy to extant or established approaches, when in fact there is no reason these are mutually exclusive. Ron's argument critiquing the "text," for example, wasn't a call for abandoning it entirely---just widening the field of objects or domain of critical inquiry to "articulation." I reckon since a lot of us are former debaters, we like our polemic.

And speaking of polemic, Rod Hart's keynote was another dirty finger stuck into a sore eye. Admittedly, it was funny---even though I was sort of grumpy from his conclusions. After reminding the mostly largely "public address" crowd that he critiqued public address in the 1980s pretty severely, he then argued that rhetorical critical scholarship was still boring and lacked a sense of "wonder." He argued for pairing up with our social scientist colleagues for more interesting research (e.g., co-authoring with a content analysis person). He cited a few essays that he thought exhibited wonder (among them, Jennifer Mercieca and Andrew Wood's essays---two friends!). He pointed the finger most pointedly at "critical/cultural studies" for being the most wonderless, rife with difficult jargon and almost always driven by an agenda that finds what it sets-out to see.

To modify what Christine Harold humorously said in her introduction to the panel following Hart's talk, "I am Josh Gunn, and I am a critical/cultural theorist."

Well, it was certainly provocative---and a great illustration of the "hasty generalization." To his credit, Hart opened by saying he was going to be making a series of fallacious arguments. Even so, a number of my buddies unfamiliar with Hart's oratory kept coming up to me and kvetching about Rod's speech. I had to keep telling them this is what Rod does---if he sees a hornet's nest, he's gonna whack it with a stick. He wants you to argue with him (and props to Rob Asen for doing so in one of the concurrent panels!).

Overall, I found the conference delightful: smart people in a great setting talking about teaching. Unlike other conferences, even during the meals and downtime I found myself talking with others about teaching, evidence that the conference was doing what it set out to do. In Communication Studies, we just don't talk about teaching as much as we should.

That said, I would also describe this conference as a kind of "productive fumbling." The biggest problem, seems to me, is that the conference goers are coming at teaching from wildly different contexts and perspectives. For example, one session I went to was about how to grapple with objects of criticism that were not discrete texts, like a social movement. Although discussion in that session was productive, there was a lot of abstraction that made it hard to focus, and varied assumptions about the context of teaching: I am interested in teaching graduate students rhetorical criticism, however, most of the folks in the room had undergraduates in mind. Some of us teach at larger universities with larger class sizes, while others of us have the good fortune to have ten students. The needs and interests of teachers really do vary from person to person, so the solution was to make things "abstract," and then the discussion gets so vague it floats in the air. I think in the future the concurrent sessions need to be even more narrowly targeted, identifying at the outset what kind of teaching context will be addressed.

This is something that could not have been addressed ahead of the conference, simply because we've not done a teaching conference before!

There's so much more to say, but I really got to get to grading. Just a couple of things: first, Karlyn Kohrs Campbell spoke, and I realized that I am my mentor's student. I mean, I already knew this (John Murphy pointed out to me just how close I am to Karlyn's teaching during my visit at Illinois a couple of years ago). Damn, though, I am a Campbellite down to the core. It was amusing to talk to so many of Karlyn's students and to "feel" how much we do things like Karlyn taught us to. Indeed: you teach how you were taught.

Finally, the closing banquet was simply marvelous and a great time. Afterward a huge group of 40-something of us went to a local pub and played pool. And then Chuck Morris kept too many of us up way, way past our bedtime. The man is an endurance machine!

Here's some photographic evidence of the conference. Yes, I have heavily edited this gallery to protect the guilty!

canadian booty

Music: Drive-By Truckers: The Big Ta-Doo (2010)