I suppose this is what my good friend Ed Green would refer to as a bit of a coffee-inspired confession. Except that the best parts of my cups of joe were probably pissed out nearly 12 hours ago, and the inspiration was as much a result of the music of Gil Scott Heron as Maxwell House. Still, I've been experiencing even more of the Absurd lately as ever before and a whole lot less of what a great deal of philosophers have referred to as angst and despair. Perhaps its what Powers (1997) referred to when he exclaimed "Its freedom baby, and it freaks me out!" More likely its a strange convergence of facticity and authenticity dating back to one of the last cartoons I scrawled in a sketchbook while transitioning from Kentucky to Florida roughly three and a half years ago. A blatant rip off of an R. Crumb piece and appropriately unfinished and juxtaposed next to Mr. Natural it asks "Can a criminal become a criminologist?" The sketchbook ends with another angle of the same subject hunched over a computer and surrounded by a trio of thought balloons reading "I hope so!" "Otherwise..." and "I'm screwed!"
As someone who somewhat exemplified labeling theory before I even knew it existed, and provided plenty of empirical support for its assumptions through juvenile delinquency and a rather prolonged adolescence (adultesence?) the question might have been as important as any possible answers to it. Lately though, I've been having trouble applying a proper label when asked to do so. Students generally want me to be "Doctor Root," (though I've yet to earn the right, or is it a privilege?) or Mister or Professor. None of these titles feels very comfortable in my skin and I wonder what kind of secondary deviance might result from my acceptance of any of them. Still, as the saying goes, "I've been called worse."
As such, maybe Camus was onto something when he explained how "One must imagine Sisyphus as happy"?
Its weird the way philosophy can creep back up your spine (not unlike "the first rising vibes of an acid frenzy" to quote the Good Doctor Thompson) through the simple act of rearranging your books and more importantly being reminded of the words and lives and times of influences as varied as Jock Young and this guy in the same deep breath:
As such, maybe Camus was onto something when he explained how "One must imagine Sisyphus as happy"?
Its weird the way philosophy can creep back up your spine (not unlike "the first rising vibes of an acid frenzy" to quote the Good Doctor Thompson) through the simple act of rearranging your books and more importantly being reminded of the words and lives and times of influences as varied as Jock Young and this guy in the same deep breath:
Meanwhile, in a fit of fate (or just some cosmic sense of humor) the heavens opened up and turned several surrounding zip codes into a solid sheet of ice as if to say "chill." Recently I kicked the Facebook habit, which means that this blog may never make it to another screen save the one I'm currently staring into and I'm alright with that...Sartrean keyholes, creaking floorboards and all.