is the word 'diary' better than the word 'blog'? probably not.
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under the table.
It�s that time of year when I�m getting ready to attend SPEP (Society for Phenomenology and Existential Philosophy) (literally). When I attend SPEP I always see lots of people I first met when I attended the Collegium Phaenomenologicum (yes, literally) (or: what I like to call "Philosophers� Summer Camp") for a lovely month in the summer of 2003. There I met some awesome-smart fun and funny people. It is always good to see them.
That summer was also kind of magical. It is the only time I attended the Collegium, but I have heard that other years did not live up to that one in terms of the combination of brains and booze and fun and friendship all-at-once. So I�m glad that Lady Fortuna (along with some funding from UC Berkeley) smiled on me and sent me to Italy that year.
I don�t drink as much bourbon as I used to. Something about aging has turned me into a lightweight, such that I am pretty much drunk on one glass of wine. So I tend to stick to a nice sauvignon blanc, a rueda or some cheeky white blend (since red wine is often a ticket to insta-headache for me). But back in the day my drink of choice was always bourbon. When I was at the Collegium that year, the bar of the hotel that was our residence for those 3+ weeks had only American whiskey (Jack Daniels) but no Bourbon whiskey.
No. Jack Daniels is not bourbon, OK?
It�s not that I was against the awesomely tasty and cheap Rosso Umbria wine we tended to drink every night. But sometimes a girl wants some bourbon. So I bought a bottle of bourbon at the Italian grocery store. I brought it out nightly, at first, so everyone at my post-dinner table out on the patio in front of the hotel could have some. But then the group director had gotten very nervous that the hotel would be upset that I had a bottle of bourbon (and thus was not ordering their booze), so the bottle was kept, in perpetuity, under the table. This allowed for many fascinating conversational asides to be held under the table, while pouring and such occurred. Here are some of my favorites:
Drinker One: "Your degree is in Rhetoric. Does that mean you are a sophist?"
Me: "Only if you have a superficial understanding of both rhetoric and philosophy. Do you want this bourbon or am I going to kick your ass instead?"
Drinker One: �Do I have to choose?�
Drinker Two: "What do you think of Vincent Van Gogh?"
[pause.]
Me: "I think he sees more light, or maybe a deeper dark, than most of us."
Drinker Three: "Can you explain to me what Levinas means by subjectivity?"
Me: "Good lord! Have you not marked that it is late and we are under a table, kind sir?!"
Drinker Three: �I�m serious.�
Me: �Cool. I�ll meet you back at the table and we�ll DO IT.�
There are more. I collected them. Some of them don�t translate well. They are composed of in-jokes or innuendo or otherwise private things. Sometimes under a table you can see people�s underwear, and that is ALWAYS hilarious. Etc. These are all good and funny mental-snapshot memories of a summer that was a perfect combination of recreation and inspiration--for work and for life.
It�s interesting how some structural break in the flow of conversation as simple as ducking under the table for a minute or so affords a shift in human relations. Those under-table moments are like pieces removed from the ceaseless flow of time, contained in little pockets of conversational intimacy. You should try it some time.
That bottle of Wild Turkey also took some walks to the Tiber and to local playgrounds late at night, when philosophers should be sleeping. Or working.
But being together with others is the best way of living, and it makes the work better--sleep or no sleep.
These days when I go to SPEP I tend to be back in my hotel room by 11pm. And I don�t mind.
However, I do still appreciate the rare spontaneous evening that turns into a fun-filled escape from the passing of time.
1:49 p.m. - October 29, 2010
Randy - 2010-11-05 04:19:39
Funny - I had the same experience about 25 years ago at the White Horse in NYC. Of course we were snorting cocaine under the table rather than pouring bourbon, but people seemed even more talkative than they usually were while under the influence of Peruvian talking powder!
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js - 2010-11-12 03:16:02
ha! beware of bars called white horse, i say. in other news, a friend of mine just reminded me that what i'm describing happened in 2003, not 2005. doh!
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