academic solipsism and the intellectual jerkoff

Ruth Behar's work The Vulnerable Observer has got me thinking about the state of academia and its self-indulgent properties. She has received both astounding praise and harsh criticism for her (some say daring and other call it exhibitionist) tactics to approach ethnography, not just exposing herself as a part of the story-telling, but in fact inserting her own story as part of the work (check out her last chapter of Translated Woman). In sifting through review after review either building a scholastic pedestal for Behar or hammering this pedestal into the ground, I feel that academics all over are missing a larger looming point: all of academia is self-indulgent.

As an undergraduate senior at UofM trying to write a premature and overeager thesis, i find that the only thing to pull me out of my dark and wildly convoluted mind is to remind myself that this process is entirely masturbatory. My work and all its prefacing research (all of which should be encased multiple sets of mocking air-quotation-marks mind you) is for me to hear myself think through surface-level concepts that i've never quite been able to break into. These are all part of the genre of "theory" that i'v been spoon-fed for at least the past 4 years. And fine. Great. There is nothing like a good ole solo session to clear the mind of all that disturbing white noise of expectations. However, just like self-sex, writing and reading these works from our higher educators gets me thinking about the more legitimately respected types of sexual exploration. Writing pieces to be published, is quite like hoppin in the sack with two or three or thousands of others for a night of intellectual ecstasy - an academic orgy of individuals all searching for self-fulfillment potentially through the fulfillment of others. What we all know and are not saying is that there are times (for some of us, this is more often than not) when we fake it - act like we're more turned on than we are, play into the roles we have set for ourselves or those that others are hoping to see us act out. So how are critics like Daphne Patai or the "vulnerable observers" like Behar much different than the rest of us partaking in this massive group-sex scenario? I maintain that they aren't. So what, if Behar wants to scream her name louder and more often than she does her partners'? And so what if Patai's pissed because Behar's yelling is making her lose her hard on? I'm bored of the culture of peer-criticism because in the realm of academia it is strictly denouncing rather than constructive. Lets call a spade a spade - this is a university dating site, the cultured equivalent to Craigslist casual encounters. The publishing industry is like a massive intellectual brothel, one that privileges the universities as the better pimps, the faculty as the high-class hookers, and scoffs on us streetwalking types who dabble in our self-indulgent writing from time to time, both for us and in the constant pursuit of making a living. If academia isnt a socially acceptable way of letting out those inner-kinks for the most sex-starved individuals, i dont know what is. This is why kids who got laid in high school are stereotyped as being burnouts: they already found their outlet. Maybe the rest of us in higher-education just needed to get our freak on at an earlier age.

The PC culture of sex and education translates just as easily. Some are proponents for rationalizing social norms, others hope to unleash all taboos on their institutional partners and wait with a sadist/exhibitionist's smile for the reaction of the unsuspecting. I admittedly am not as kinky in either realm as i'd like to proclaim, and while i support the process of letting the fetish out of the proverbial closet, let us all take a moment to remember that the items hangin in there dont necessarily fit everyone just as nicely. I look particularly stupid in a number of outfits, and that being said, try to tailor my clothing appropriately. Same goes with sex and writing. Plus, we see that some situations allow themselves for different get-ups - its far too cold in Michigan to wear that strap-up lingerie outside of my house (but we see sorority types braving the chill every night, so you see, its all subjective in the end). So while i spend my time talking the talk, i hardly walk into an academic setting spewing my blogger bullshit into the linoleum-tiled florescent lighting of the classroom, because i would like these particular partners of mine to giveafuck. This, my friends and fellow internet voyeurs, is material reserved for the tiny blinking cursor within a blogspot box, and i'll be damned if i dont look fucking fly in it right now.