Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Dead philosopher society



















Dear Marc, how are you? The kids are finally sleeping and I'm supposed to go through my bills. I'm not even looking at the bills. What can I say, I have a lot to get off my chest. Hairs, etc.

No. What I'm really writing you about is a completely different matter. We went to family dinner at my mother-in-law's place the other day. The food was delicious, she's an excellent cook. We had

* Baby brussel sprouts
* Finnish carrot/turnip casserole
* Beetroot salad
* Garden salad
* An assortment of cheese
* Ham
* Potatoes
* Home made meat balls
* Vanilla ice cream with chocolate chip cookies
* Fruit salad

And some other dishes that I don't know how to translate. It was a great meal, with lots of great wine. As I got a little tipsy, I listened in as my boyfriend's family began discussing Lacan. I'm not familiar with Lacan. Everyone else was. They were all surprised that I did not know of his important theories.

To add to the misery, I had made a fatal discovery before going to dinner. The cold winter air always makes my hair a static nightmare. I was out of hair products, and in order to avoid looking like a fraggle, I had sprayed my poor locks with a little Body Shop Olive Oil Mist. Let's call it Body Shop Olive Oil Mistake from now on. It did stop the hair from being static. It also made me look like I hadn't gotten a decent shampoo in 5 weeks. And 5 years.

They talked on about Lacan until someone took pity on me and asked "so Emi, what do you do during the days?".

"Oh nothing much. I take care of my kids and write letters to Marc Jacobs."

They didn't know who you were.

I love my family in law and I think they feel my love. But that night perhaps I felt they thought their son/brother could have done better than to end up with the person sitting there in front of them:

A woman with hopelessly greasy hair, blatantly ignorant of intellectual forthcomings, spending her days writing letters to unknown fashion designers unlikely to reply.

So what, nobody's perfect. In the spirit of another French intellectual, Michel Onfrey, I poured another glass of wine, got too drunk, laughed too loud and talked too much.

How are your family dinners?
Must go read up on Lacan. Seems interesting.

big love
-e

ps. Now that I have searched for pictures of Lacan, I must say this one is my favorite. The philosopher dream boat. Sorry it's so pixel-y.

6 comments:

Anja said...

Your in-laws are talking about Lacan at dinner? What kind of people are they? I know who he is and what his writings are about after years of studying but I hope I never start chatting about his theories. I'd rather talk of Marc Jacobs, to be perfectly honest (and another thing: please never let me be surprised that someone else doesn't know about him. Oh dear). Did you marry a professor of comparative literature, descended from a long line of professors in comparative literature? I need to know.

plum said...

ah don't be so hard on yourself. i'm sure they love you... just be happy that you like your in-laws... mine are visiting on saturday and i'm dreading it. i might run away and avoid the whole thing!

:)

-e said...

anja, yes, more or less. they are very well read and I love them for it.

Anja said...

:)
I'm sure they're lovely, I just panicked a little. Probably because I'm writing my thesis right now and am a little anxious about the theory bits.
Merry Lacanian Christmas!

-e said...

Ah, best luck to you and strength, smart woman, strength! I guess luck really has got nothing to do with it. You'll pull through, make us proud.
Love-e

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