I’m bunking off from running, still, as the weather stolidly refuses to improve and my throat is still wobbly (it’s embarrassing talking about the death of Jesus in John’s Gospel with a voice that alternates between James Earl Jones and Mickey Mouse). Right now the BBC projects tolerable weather for Sunday, so I’ll tentatively plan to resume running then.
I neglected to mention yesterday that I had gone to the lecture by Paul Gilroy, ‘Race-thinking and the Half-life of Atlantic Slavery,’ and it was a remarkable conspectus of the many dimensions of the toxic persistent legacies of racial ideologies. I tried to take notes, but just couldn’t keep up; I hope they put it online some day. I hadn’t heard anyone invoke Castoriadis and Dusssell in a long, long time.
Today is Friday of Eighth; I’m still a little behind in my marking, but as of today I can’t get further behind, and all the marking I do will have the effect of zeroing out my essay debt.