Sometimes I wonder: what would it be like if I blogged almost everything?<\/p>\n
Today, then, I’d blog about a Milton seminar class in which I did most of the talking and ended rather dispirited, only to find via the class syllabus wiki that one very attentive student had not only taken it all in but transformed it into a leap forward in her own thinking by making a sharp, essential connection with another class she’s taking. (Some say that can’t happen when a teacher did most of the talking–but I’m not sure I believe that anymore, myself.) I’d blog about the Introduction to Literary Studies class that considered Judith Butler’s arguments in “Gender Trouble” about gender and <\/em>sex as a Saussurean play of signs, and how they agreed and protested and fumed and laughed and gritted their teeth, and began talking to each other very intensely about how the very idea of meaning becomes tenuous in all sorts of ways. I’d blog about the Larissa Macfarquar (sp?) piece in the New Yorker about the couple who have tried to unite philosophy and neuroscience, and how I want to share that article with those students to keep ’em thinking. I’d blog about the detailed conversation I had this afternoon with a colleague who wanted to know what I knew about Hopkins and sprung rhythm, and to talk about her research on a contemporary poet who may have been working the same vein. I’d blog about fifteen other things rattling around in my head in addition to the music I hear almost constantly in there as well. I’d leave out many things, but I’d at least capture all the interesting stuff (interesting to me) in all its variety; I’d capture my “input” fascinations that ramp up so powerfully at times, especially if the times are propitious….<\/p>\n What would it be like to pour it all forth and hold back nothing? Not to lay bare one’s private life–I’m not terribly interested in that–but to lay bare one’s internal del.icio.us, to serve up one’s own cognitive gumbo in all its stew and savor.<\/p>\n I wonder.<\/p>\n