My Anthropology Year in Review.

This was my first year of not having to take classes. Instead, I interned for three quarters in the Social Science Core undergraduate course Self, Culture and Society. An intern is a graduate student who is being trained to teach the course. When I come back from the field I’ll be expected to teach the full course myself. There is a lot of competition for these internships, because unlike other universities where there are more undergrads than grad students and thus plenty of work for grad students as TAs, the University of Chicago has more grad students than undergrads, and thus presents fewer opportunities for grad students to get any teaching experience.

Self, Culture and Society is, essentially, an introduction to the ways in which the social sciences have engaged with ideas of, you guessed it, the self, culture, and society. So, we read people like Adam Smith, Marx, Durkheim, Freud, and Foucault. Each quarter I interned with a different professor, and I basically sat there and listened while they taught, occasionally interjecting usually unwelcome comments and looking a little like a strange, older undergraduate. I was supposed to teach one class each quarter, but in the Winter quarter I had to teach several classes when the professor became unavailable suddenly. This meant that I had to teach, on very short notice, Theodore Adorno’s essay The Fetish Character of Music and the Regression in Listening. I’m not sure the kids got much from that particular class. I actually received a horrifically bad evaluation from one student, but I reckon one bad review out of sixty or so isn’t too bad. Anyway, I really enjoyed teaching, which is good because I hear it’s a big part of being a professor…

In April we learned that both Amy and I had won Fulbright-Hayes Doctoral Dissertation Research Abroad grants. This means that we each get the money necessary to go away and do our research. It was a phenomenal feeling to realize that the work we’d been training to do for so long was actually going to happen. It’s hard to express this aspect of graduate school to people. That you’d get into a Ph.D. program, take classes for years, and then not be able to do your dissertation work and thus graduate seems pretty strange, but it’s a very real possibility. I know intelligent and hardworking graduate students with interesting research topics who, for whatever reason, have been unable to secure funding. They have to reapply with new and improved proposals, which takes a year, and there’s no guarantee that the new proposal will be funded either. I know of a few grad students who couldn’t get funding and had to leave their programmes. I mean, I know that no time spent learning is wasted, but feckin’ hell, I’d go mental if all the work I’d done for four years, not to mention the money I’d spent, had been for naught. Nightmare!

In the Summer I won, miraculously, a Provost’s Summer Fellowship, which allowed me to pay rent. In the Autumn I prepared for and took my qualify exams, which I’ve written about already. I also managed to take care of a couple of long-standing incompletes that had been with me for a while, and began an intensive French class to help me pass my language exam, which will be in February.

In sum, it was a very successful year. I got some teaching experience, which is hard to come by here. I secured funding for my dissertation research, as did Amy, which is a huge weight off our shoulders. Finally, I passed my exams, and with only minor psychological damage. I think I finally realized the extent to which graduate school is all about competition and ambition. But hey, I’m not complaining. Even though it can be stressful and hard, it can also be, as in the case of teaching those classes, incredibly rewarding. I feel very, very lucky to be doing what I’m doing. As the man said, sure it’s indoor work with no heavy lifting.

Cycling in the Cold.

Before I moved to Chicago, I was told to prepare for the cold. I had no idea what that meant. How cold was cold? Would I need to ski through the streets to get to classes? Would I have to dress like a fur trapper?? Was frostbite going to be a regular threat to my extremities??? With visions of blackened toes in my mind, I went into a winter sports shop in Dublin and priced Arctic survival gear. It turns out that it's not that cold in Chicago. But, it is cold, and it stays cold for a disproportionate amount of time. It turns out that while I don't hate the cold here, I do hate how long it lasts. When you're still donning four layers of protective wool baselayer in May, you start to go a bit ga-ga.

Cycling in the cold can be fun, and it can be torturous. The key is to keep those extremities dry. I'll never forget going to the Dahmer Dash alleycat in Milwaukee last November. They had had an early winter storm, and there was about a foot of snow on the ground. My feet got soaked on the ride from Kat's place to the start, and by the time the race began my toes were ready to fall off. Thankfully I wasn't alone. A bunch of us made it to the first checkpoint, and then we slunk off to Kat's to defrost.

Cycling in Chicago in the winter is a lot easier. Unlike Milwaukee, they actually plough the streets here (shock!) so even after a storm you can usually cycle on the streets within 24 hours. If you want to. I rarely do. But I'm lazy. Anyway, if you do want to, you can get out there. They are even good at ploughing everyone's favorite training ride location, the Lake Front Path. In the mornings it can be beautiful, cold, crisp and bright. If the temperature is at or below freezing, every cyclist you encounter is a friend. As long as you're correctly attired, you're fine. I usually wear my Team Pegasus shorts and jersey over the following: two pairs of wool socks, two pairs of fleece tights, two or three long-sleeve baselayers under a long sleeve winter jersey, two pairs of gloves, and a Belgian style winter hat. Oh, and neoprene overshoes.

The novelty of the cold really does wear off after a while, though. Washing the rock salt off the derailleurs loses its glamour after a few times, and there's really only so long I can take cycling alongside a Lake Michigan with huge chunks of ice floating in it...


The funny thing is that the cold helped me solve a mystery that had plagued me for a long time, namely why I had always seemed to be unfit. As a teenager, I played badminton at least three times a week for years, and never quite figured out that it was not normal for someone who did as much exercise as I did to be constantly out of breath. I just assumed I was unfit, even when that made no sense. But when I came over here it got much, much worse. I couldn't breathe if I did any kind of exercise outdoors in the Chicago winter. My lungs would be ragged after only a few minutes cycling, so I went to the doctor and was told that I have Exercise Induced Asthma. I would never have known had I not moved over here and started cycling in the cold. I got an inhaler, and it works really well. I can now actually participate in sporting events without wheezing away like a geriatric.

Of course, now I look like a grade A doper at the velodrome, huffing down my stimulants and steroids before a race. I mean, the name of the company that produces my Albuterol probably doesn't help...

Christmas in Dublin.

Just back in Chicago after spending Christmas at home with my family in Dublin. I had a great time, but I realized that there is no way I could afford to live there. Two pints cost me nearly $15, and I saw a Felt TK2 for almost $3,500! Madness! Over here in the US, you can get a complete TK2 for about $1,500. Well, at least the pints are worth it...

Qualifying Exams.

I'm not the first person ever to do exams, but you'd swear I was given how much I've been complaining about them. Essentially, the problem is that I'm afraid of hard work.

Four weeks to read over 80 items, including 36 full books, followed by 5 days in which to write 2 essays on questions emailed to me by my committee members. Then, an oral exam in front of my committee. I made it as hard on myself as possible by having been a lazy swine for the last couple of years. Everything on the list I should probably have already read, but hadn't. The reading list was split into three sections: Nation, Nationalism and the Politics of the State; Colonialism, Postcoloniality and Race; The Military and Masculinity. I read most of the list... but not all of it. The questions I got from my committee came out of left field, to whit: "What distinctive contribution, in your critical view, has anthropology made to the theorization of (i)modernist nationhood, (ii) the politics of the modernist state, and (iii) the hyphenation of the modernist nation-state?"

Er.... what??

I don't know how, but I got the two essays done, turned in on time, and then went in early on Monday morning for the oral. It started well: I killed a silverfish on the wall and asked if killing the beast was the test, and had I passed? Laughs all round, but no, that wasn't the test... One of my committee told us a story about how, during a job talk, a rabid squirrel had emerged from a fireplace and had attacked the faculty members interviewing her. Another committee member told us of how, in the middle of a lecture to 150 students, the departmental secretary had burst into the hall to tell him that his wife had called to demand he return home and rescue her from the squirrel that had invaded their kitchen. More laughs. But, eventually, we got down to brass tacks, and I waffled on for a couple of hours about the state, the military, Fiji, war memorials, race, the nation, the liberal subject, and something I fancifully called "generalized death."

After a while they got sick of me, and asked me wait outside. When they emerged, they told me I'd passed, and that I should immediately get started on the next phase, the departmental proposal. Oh, brilliant yeah, cheers, I'll get right on that! Amy was waiting outside, so we left to celebrate.

My Bikes.

IRO Angus - The street/fashion bike.


Bianchi Pista Concept - The track bike.


Wilier Mortirolo - The road bike.

Race Report for July 18th 2007 - Hellyer Velodrome

This is a race report from the summer. It should have gone on the Team Pegasus blog, but I never got around to sending it.

So, I was in California house-sitting. Amy's advisor and her husband had recently moved from the U of C to Stanford, and they needed someone to look after their house, and their adorable dog Dorothea, while they were away. We jumped at the chance to spend some time in the Bay area. I brought my street-track bike, because I wanted something I could both ride around and compete on, Hellyer Velodrome being relatively close by.

I decided to see what the Wednesday night races at Hellyer were like. We loaded the bike and the dog into the car, and drove from Stanford to San Jose. It was a beautiful summer night, and the park was lovely. The velodrome was nice too; not as flat in the turns as Northbrook, not as steep as Kenosha, and somewhere between them in length.

I had only been in a handful of other races prior to this, and I was really nervous. It was also very strange being in the infield, putting the bike together and pulling on the distinctive pink and black kit of Team Pegasus without any of my teammates around. Amy was watching from the stands, and the people were friendly, but I felt really isolated without my team.

Wednesday night racing at Hellyer is split into three groups: A is Pro, Cat1, Cat2. B is Cat3, Cat4. C is Cat4, Cat5. There's considerable overlap between the groups, as people decide to compete levels higher or lower than they might usually. I decided to race in C. I was in no mood to go up against Californian Cat3s, considering I was still only Cat5 back in Chicago.

First up: Scratch Races. A heat, a semi, then the final. In my heat, I came third. I remember absolutely nothing about it. It was a blur.

The semi I remember much more clearly. We started with about 8 riders. I was doing well, sitting in second place, drafting the guy ahead of me and letting him do all the work as we came up to turn 3 of the last lap. I was in the sprinters lane, and getting ready to try to pass on the outside. All of a sudden some guy flies past me on the inside of the turn! In the côte d'azur! I couldn't believe it, he actually gave me a fright! Before I knew it the race was over. I had finished second, behind the guy who passed on the inside. I didn't care because I progressed anyway, but someone else complained and the guy was disqualified. I talked to him after the race. He hadn't know it was illegal to pass on the inside like that.

I had made it to the final. I was a nervous wreck. Honestly, I don't know why I race. It makes me so nervous that I always swear I'll never race again... Then I get out there, and I love every second of it.

I remember the final with perfect clarity. There were three of us. It was to be a three lap scratch, but it ended up being more like a three lap match sprint. Holders steadied us at the line. The whistle sounded. We started moving forward slowly, gingerly. I tried to get into third place. I could hear people cheering as the small crowd realized that we were trying to outfox each other. We were moving so slowly, not trackstanding but riding slowly, weaving gently up and down the bank as we came into turn 1. I got into third place. The woman in first kept looking over her shoulder at the guy in second and me. We all exchanged grins. She knew we weren't going to pass her, and we knew she didn't want to lead us out... She slowed right down. We were still in turn 2 of the first lap at this point. I had an idea. Very, very slowly, I moved to the front. I picked up the pace a little. Not too much. I wanted them to think that I was willing to work, but that I wasn't trying to break. We settled. I led. Through the straight, in the sprinters lane. Into turn 3 of the first lap. I pulled high, slowed, and looked over my shoulder, as if to invite them past. They didn't bite. I knew they wouldn't. They slowed. We came into turn four... and I dived down the bank. Out of the saddle, sprinting like crazy, diving from the top of the turn to sprinters lane, I passed the start line at full pelt like I was doing a flying 200. I hammered at the pedals. My lungs were burning, and I flew through turns 1 and 2 of the second lap, leaning in, feeling the gravity. I knew I'd surprised them. I knew they had thought the cat-and-mouse game would last for at least another lap. I didn't look back. I couldn't hear them behind me. Into turns 3 and 4. I heard the bell ringing for the last lap. I crossed the start line. One full lap to go. Christ! Out of the corner of my eye I noticed people watching from the infield. I kept going, but I was getting ragged. I'd been sprinting flat out for a full lap, and I knew I couldn't keep that pace up for another full lap. I was just hoping that I'd got enough of a jump... Out of turn 2, into the straight, in the sprinters lane, and I heard the crowd get louder; someone was catching up with me. I bit down, and tried to spin faster. Into turn 3 of the last lap and suddenly I could hear the rider behind me, so I really tried to give it one last push. It worked. I pulled away. Coming out of turn 4, I could see the line. Head down. Cross. Finish. Win. Scream. Laugh. I was ecstatic.

In the grand scheme of things, winning the Group C scratch races on a Wednesday night at Hellyer Velodrome doesn't amount to much, really. But I felt great. I was proud to have won far from home and still representing my team.

I rolled around the cool down track. Other races happened, with riders going twice the speed I had gone, but I didn't care. Eventually, we lined up for a miss'n'out. I don't remember much, but I came third. I missed the final race of the night, a points race, because I thought it was all over and I'd already taken the pedals off my bike. Honestly though, I'm not sure I could have done another race. Like George Costanza, I just wanted to leave on a high note!

Even though I missed the points race, I placed third in the overall Omniun. It was a great night.

Spokecards

Introduction.

I have the feeling that writing a blog is a little bit like recording your voice and then playing it back to yourself later: it's mortifying, and you always sound like an idiot.

This is my first attempt at a blog, I've no idea what to write, and frankly I have no idea why anyone would want to read it, but here it is nonetheless. Soon, I'll be leaving Chicago to move to Caracas, Venezuela for a year, while my wife conducts her fieldwork. The blog will give me both something to do, because I don't yet speak Spanish, and an easy way to record the experience of moving to a different country. In the meantime, I'm going to post up a couple of race reports that I wrote but never got around to adding to my team's blog, and the usual bullshit like photos, videos, and wildly misguided opinion.



Since I doubt that anyone who doesn't know me will be reading this, I should probably dispense with the formalities in short order. I grew up in Raheny on the northside of Dublin, Ireland. I'm 32. I'm married to Amy, who is the best. Obviously. I'm studying for a Ph.D in anthropology at the University of Chicago. How I got into the U of C remains a mystery, and apparently a source of some consternation to my department. Feck them! My dissertation is about the recruitment of Fijians into the British Army. After Caracas, Amy and I go to Fiji for a year so that I can conduct my fieldwork. It's a tough life!

I ride for Team Pegasus, the preeminent hipster cycling team in the Midwest. We're the shit. For real. We compete on the track, the road, in cyclocross and in mountain biking. We go out there to have a good time, first and foremost, but we also like to win and even though we've only been around a year we have a growing reputation. Check out the team blog here. I ride track, and just finished my first season. I did pretty well, competing at Northbook, Kenosha and Hellyer velodromes, progressing from Cat5 to Cat4, and managing to finish in the top three at least once every race night, except for my last night of racing, which sucked.

That's all you need to know. Next, I'll post up a couple of race reports from the summer. Don't worry if this is all a boring load of oul' shite now, I'm sure it'll get funny and interesting once I'm strolling around Caracas like a lunatic, desperately trying to blend in even though I'll be the only person slathered with factor 45 sunblock...