In which a veteran of cultural studies seminars in the 1990s moves into academic administration and finds himself a married suburban father of two. Foucault, plus lawn care.
A few weeks ago, we went to a local photographer to get some family portraits done. Last night we went back to see the proofs. On the way back home:
TW: I hope they can do something about my tooth. I hate the way it looks.
DD: I didn’t notice it.
TW: Well, I did.
DD: Maybe I was distracted by my Incredible Growing Forehead. It’s a fivehead.
TW: It’s not so bad.
DD: I look like an alien.
TW: TB, what did you think?
TB: All I could see was my scar.
DD: I didn’t see your scar!
TW: It wasn’t even noticeable!
TB: It was huge.
TW: We’re our own worst critics. TG, what did you see?
TG: (cheerfully): Nothing!
And she’s right.