On bites (and reactions to)

Warning: a fairly gruesome image follows...

Despite having lived here for five years now, I've been fairly lucky in the whole: get bit by terrifying things part of things. I haven't, despite spending a lot of time in the woods and outdoors. You would think that, after spending years in Far North Queensland (hello sandflies!), SW Virginia would be a paradise of non-insect life but that's not the case. I live in a house that's almost 100 years old and used to be an undergrad residence before I moved in. There are cracks from which insects emerge, probably various crevices that the spider-cricket hybrid that exists in this part of the world lives in, and I've seen different types of scurrying creatures in the basement as I go to do my laundry.

Every time I return from a few weeks away, the house is filled with dead earwigs. I have no idea where they come from but they are everywhere. This summer, I found some in between pages of my books on the bookshelves.

All this is to say that insects are not rare in this part of the world. I've never been fond of insects--of any kind (is anyone?)--but we've kept a wary distance during my existence here. We seem to know the other exists and give each other a wide berth--helped by the fact that Dog tends to eat anything that moves. That changed a few days ago when I found my arms and hands covered with bites. They were extremely itchy and, after a few days, the skin around them died (? -- became hard and crusty). Right now, I'm at the stage where it looks as though part of my hand is about to fall off.

I have no idea what did this or how it happened but people's reactions have ranged from: What happened there?! to telling me of the many (many!) terrible things this could be: flesh-eating bacteria, chicken pox, wasps, burns...a nice lady at the grocery shop held my hand as she told me a story of how, in her day, no one swam in the rivers as it was "well known there are insects there that, when they bite, you can't move and that is it, sweetie".

The practice of strangers talking to you--a common habit in SW Virginia life in my experience--means I've also been told of many ways in which I can deal with this. So far, I'm going with the: let's put iodine on it and hope it goes away soon approach.

I'll write a bit about classes next time. For now, here's how my hand looks (arms are worse)

Back in the 'burg (and posting regularly--I hope--this semester)

So, after summer spent with parents, one of whom has been spending a fair bit of time in hospital (getting better), I returned to the US of A a few weeks back. This is going to be a very busy semester--more so than usual for reasons that will become clear as we proceed--and I figure I'll write about some of the things I see/note around here, both at work and when I'm out and about in the area. For reference, I volunteer (sometimes) and am working on doing something in the so-called outdoors once every couple of weeks or so. I also pop into gas stations, visit fairs and yard sales, drive dogs about, and such. I'll try write about some of these experiences and encounters.

I'm teaching two classes in the Fall--a senior seminar on Diplomacy and Security that I'm running as one on terrorism and counterterrorism and a National Security class for upper-level undergrads. The senior seminar is my 15th? 16th? new prep since I started here. I know. I'm also doing an independent study -- on radicalization - with some graduate students. Add the usual committee assignments, panic/worry over not having done enough work over the summer and it's likely to be a fairly (quite) busy Fall.

I've taught the NatSec class before but this semester we have three different versions of it. We also have a new Security Studies Concepts class and so I ditched a lot of the theoretical classes as I reckon they'll be covered in the Security Studies class (on Securitization, feminist and postcolonial approaches). I also changed classes on police militarization (which, last semester, almost led to blows in class) and added sections on State Terrorism. Otherwise, it's a fairly straightforward class that examines some key concepts still and then moves towards "issues". So far, I've got a full class signed up. Let's see how many stick around after the semester starts next week.

For the Senior Seminar, I've got 11 students now. I think 8-10 is a good number but we'll see how it goes. I feel that since the class is only advertised as "Senior Seminar: Diplomacy and Security", students don't really know what they are getting or what will be the topic. I think quite a few faculty make posters and pin them around but I wasn't too organized for that.

Not much to add. I still need to put up readings online and am trying to finish writing a paper that has done the rounds of different journals and emerged differently each time. Those types of things are the hardest to place--by the time it's gone to Journal No. 3, I forget what the reason I wrote it for was. Ah well, as is the norm in academia, keep at it I guess. Sometimes, though, I miss the proper 7am-3pm, paid almost as much as I get paid now job I had in my early 20's...

This weekend, I'll be walking dogs, signing up to foster for a shelter in a nearby town, and checking out an Auto Fair and Swap Meet at a nearby town. The plan is to also send off this one article before the semester begins on Monday.

Days at home

I'm back in Nepal for the summer, trying to do some research but mainly helping out/hanging out with family. It's been raining a lot and most of my travel plans to villages and areas where I'd planned to do fieldwork have been on hold. I am now trying to follow up some leads for interviews and hopefully will have enough for the book manuscript by the end of my time here. Let's see.

One of the best bits of being back here is the shift between how I think of time when in the US of A and how it is here. Doing one thing here--calling a plumber to get the pump that pumps water to the underground tank fixed (we've not had running water for decades!)--takes a day. Going somewhere takes a day. This is how a day in Kathmandu looks like...

Wake up, drink tea*

Meander about and help Mum with breakfast for her, dad, uncle, etc (whoever's popped in)

Run errands: go to the shop, buy veggies, wash clothes and hang them, go in search of the 'net, etc

Lunchtime (rice, daal, veggies--always :-))

Try figure out one thing per day (e.g. how to clean out the study/how to pay for 6 months of Internet or if we still have a post box at the post office. Calling a plumber is something that takes all day)

Drink tea

Evening: check out the fruit trees around the house--mangoes, guava, persimmon, pomelo, pears or go for a (short) wander outside

Watch TV if lights are on

Dinner (usually roti and veggies or momo)

Hang out with the folks, sleep

* I never drink tea when I'm not here or with my other family back in the US. It's like "tea=family" and can't be had anywhere else...

Research snippet

a) I've mentioned this before but Papers Past is a brilliant brilliant thing and all my thanks to the people who made it happen (I did say this in person. But can't be said enough)

b) Reading about Maori soldiers (and how they were viewed locally in New Zealand) in WWI, I came across this gem. I think the best bit is where the guy reports some Swiss dude (ok, granted some Swiss dudes know how to climb mts) *taught* a Nepali lad the art of climbing. 

Because obviously what Nepalis who guide mountaineers don't know how to do is climb mountains smile emoticon 

c) distractions abound! You may note this has nothing to do with the actual subject I"m researching (a) but olden times newspapers are such a wonder!

Here's the link to the story about Zurbriggen's Axe

Can I trust what I see (on the internets)?

No.

So, I think this whole: Let's turn X landmark into colours of Y country that has had a terrorist attack is...well, thoughts beyond here especially as this is turning out to be a semester in which I feel overwhelmed and, often, under attack (and thus anxious). 

But, it is something that is done. And it is something that is done for *some* terrorist attacks and not others. And then we seek to see whether it was done for Z attack and are thankful/share that, oh yes, Paris was in solidarity with Lahore (based on the Eiffel Tower allegedly turning into Pakistan's flag. SPOILER ALERT: it didn't)

I guess the point is: a) we shouldn't ask for the Eiffel tower or whatever to change its lights whenever there is an attack 

b) but it seems fair to ask why does it change lights for *some* attacks and not others 

c) it also seems like we could ask what does this sharing of "oh Paris did this" say about us and what we seek (a recognition of common humanity? A sense that Pakistani kids/women matter too?). 

d) I dunno. I have lots of thoughts on this. But I admit I was surprised and then unsurprised that the Eiffel tower in green photo was of when South Africa won the rugby world cup (!) rather than anything to do with Lahore.*

* I'm basing this off Twitter and this source but I think the rest of my a) to d) stands even if it turns out the Eiffel Tower in Pakistani flag picture was accurate. 

The politics of visualization (and seeing) remains fascinating and, in this case, troubling about what it says about "us". 

Escapes (and perceptions)

Since I moved to this town, I foster dogs. I think it was the 6th? 7th? foster that I ended up keeping. She had little/no hair due to various skin illness issues, had a bit of her ear chipped, and was terrified of everything. In the 3 years I've had her, she's grown her fur, is a tiny wee killer (two skunks, numerous small rodents, a possum, an attack on a deer, half a cat, many squirrels), and is massively curious about everything. The shelter listed her as a German Shepherd but there's no sense of "oh, hey, I quite like my human" in her. None. Humans exist to feed her and take her for walks/runs. She is also an escape artist/runner. I live in a house with no fenced yard and so I try take her on walks or put her on a long leash so she can run about in the big park in my back yard. As I am mostly sleepy, generally in my own world, type person and Dog is always "Kill NOW. What can I kill?", there's many times she's run off/escaped.

Today, I think was Dog's most epic escape (so far) (there's time) (my heart might not take more inventive escapes well). Taking advantage of slip in the ice/snow, she did a runner. I went around calling her name. No noise. No sound. Nothing. After scouring pretty much the whole neighborhood, I heard a whimper from near the House of Horror*. Turns out Dog had gone underneath HoH and got stuck. Of course, this didn't prevent her from trying to sniff/explore/etc so we ended up in a situation where Dog was fairly deep underneath this falling down/half fallen down house, it was getting dark and I knew the folks around there wouldn't do well to having some random woman wandering around in their territory.

So, of course, I did the sensible thing. I went home, got my mobile and rang the Fire department to ask for help.

Hahah-no! I crawled under the HoH, expecting any moment the house to fall down OR someone to shoot us, grabbed Dog, took her off her stupid leash and then, grabbing a wriggling Dog like a rugby ball, got us out of there. I walked almost a mile with 35lb Dog in hand. For much of this time, Dog was convinced she had to escape NOW and was wriggling like an eel.

We got home safe, I poured myself a stiff drink (whiskey. The good stuff) and I thought about the incident. If this were New Zealand or Nepal, I'd have tried to ask for help from one of the people whose houses were near the House of Horror. I'd have gone and knocked on their doors. But since this was Southwestern USA, I didn't. Not only didn't I go knock on neighbor's doors, but all the stories we read about strangers shot in garages, driveways, and so on came to mind. The whole time I was crawling under a falling-down house, I wasn't as much worried the house would fall on me or that I'd get a scrape (and probably end up with Tetanus--could still happen!) but that someone would notice the noise and start shooting. I was terrified to the extent that my arms and legs were trembling. This fear is, of course, more about me than about how the people here "really are". I"m sure the folks here would have helped too (maybe) but I didn't even feel I could ask them. There's a different kind of self-making when I am in SWVA than when I am in Nepal or elsewhere.

*House of Horror is a falling down house that exists at the end of my lane. Around it are abandoned/occupied trailers, a campervan, and various pickup trucks. The one time I was near there, a bearded gent came out and told me to "keep your daw-ug away from here" (this was in Year 2 and the dog was Harold, an adorable scamp of a thing) and I've never been back/near since.

On Johnny Walker(s)

Things are heating up on the uni front, with job searches (I'm on two search committees) and slight panic about dodgy technologies during teaching--again, the usual. I have thoughts about the new season of Agent Carter but will wait till it's over before sharing them. In the meantime, here's a classic: my granddad wasn't much of a Bollywood films person (my best memories of him are of us watching cricket and arguing over tactics) but he loved his Scotch. And he loved this film (Pyaasa). The guy who plays the comic barber in this clip is Johnny Walker (the actor, obviously). His story is pretty unusual too--a rags to riches tale often found in Bollywood fantasies but not that often in real Bollywood life.






Unlike the majority of Nepalis, I don't understand Hindi too well. I can get by and can make sense of what's being said (sort of) but the nuances of dialogues pass me by. That being said, this film is one of the best and it's pretty revolutionary for its time. The hero ends up with a prostitute. He denounces materiality and capitalism (well, not in *those* words but...). The songs are divine. If you get a chance, do watch it.

Here's a more romantic song: Hum Aapke Aankhon Me (which I reckon is: in your eyes, I'll place my heart)

And here we go again...(or, welcoming y'all to 2016 with a rant)

It's been a while and this is the semester I'm supposed to get myself organized and get my papers together and get stuff published/sort out another book/etc etc. Hence, it's obviously the best time to start this up again! For now, this will just be observations/random snippets that don't fit on Twitter/things I feel I wanted to get off my chest. The usual, in other words.

It's been a pretty snowy few days. We were promised blizzards and such and I think we got about a foot? a bit less? of snow here in SW Virginia. I discovered that some random pieces of plastic in my garage and realised they were sleds. Dog and I went sledding today.

On the academic side, I'm struggling with a paper that received a relatively favorable (I thought) R&R a few months ago and then, when I did the R&R, it was rejected. I admit I was not the best pleased by this--I thought it was one of my better pieces and discussed stuff that normally doesn't get talked of/about in IR/Political Science/whateveritismyfieldis (IR I think) (maybe). It also took a lot of time and the whole year was basically wasted on this paper while a straight up rejection would have meant I'd have tried (and hopefully published) it elsewhere by now. But, hey, that is academia especially when you do weird stuff on a mainstream-y topic.

I have also been in quite a few meetings and discussions lately and was thinking about a few things with regard to racial/economic/etc ideas of "diversity". Apparently, my university is all on its way to becoming inclusive (their word) and promoting diversity. So far, this has led to some interesting practices that I've noted, one of which is my "Academic Rant of The Week". Here goes (with the caveat this is my observation and not a generalization. In case that caveat is needed. I mean, this is a blog after all so obviously everything is my observation):

Apparently these days, it's totally ok to say things like: "hey, I"m a white guy, I"m not supposed to understand X (critical/non-white theorists/etc)" but if you say "hey, I'm a brown girl. I don't give a flying fuck about that one line in Plato and Aristotle" or even "Look, yes, Plato, Aristotle, blah blah but surely Z and Q are saying interesting things too?", you don't know how to "do political theory".

I'm so so close to going on a mini rant about this in a context that's best not ranted in so...here we go. In many ways, this is about "the canon", right? The canon of political theorists who are all aligned in some dark, dingy, library shelf somewhere and where "we" are all supposed to get our ideas from. But, I went to university in a setting where they didn't give much of a damn about these fellas. One of my theory professors was one of the very few (still one of the very few) folks who asked us to question the mainstream historical narrative of the establishment of the Australian nation-state. I did read Plato, etc and especially a lot of 20th century theorists but we read them in two ways: 1. to see what they themselves might have "hidden" or what we could perhaps discover underlying their accepted thoughts and in relation to the time/context they lived in, and 2. we read these theorists alongside local/Indigenous fictions/films to note how what they said could be questioned. Thus, you question the foundations of "political theory" while also knowing that these fellas (and, of course, it's usually fellas) make up what counts as those "foundations". I don't understand how this is any better or worse than reading a bunch of Plato/Aristotle/Whoever. It's just different. And, I'd argue, if you want real diversity, then you need to acknowledge that not everyone might have had the same/similar educational backgrounds and ways of learning. Indeed, diversity isn't just about adding a woman or adding a person of colour.* Diversity of thought about what is "political theory" might also be helpful for the institution and for students.

Well. I do feel better now that rant is over. Next time, I dunno. Agent Carter? How Dog sleds?

* I have a different rant about this but will save it for another time.