. . . I had been reading essays in which the adjective neoliberal was routinely invoked as an accusation, and I had only a sketchy notion of what was intended by it. When one of these essays cited my recent writings on higher education as a prime example of “neoliberal ideology” (Sophia McClennen, “Neoliberalism and the Crisis of Intellectual Engagement,” in Works and Days, volumes 26-27, 2008-2009), I thought I’d better learn more.
What I’ve learned (and what some readers of this column no doubt already knew) is that neoliberalism is a pejorative way of referring to a set of economic/political policies based on a strong faith in the beneficent effects of free markets. Here is an often cited definition by Paul Treanor: “Neoliberalism is a philosophy in which the existence and operation of a market are valued in themselves, separately from any previous relationship with the production of goods and services . . . and where the operation of a market or market-like structure is seen as an ethic in itself, capable of acting as a guide for all human action, and substituting for all previously existing ethical beliefs.” (“Neoliberalism: Origins, Theory, Definition.”) Think Again, Stanley Fish
I will mention Twilight now, but this isn't a post about Twilight. I just wanted to bring up the fact that I got a cookie for reading the novel, from Marybeth and while my initial reasons for having to read the novel involved a shitty bet made with a manager at work, I made good on my bet for another more important reason: Marybeth asked me nicely to read the novel, and then after seeing my pained looked, told me she'd understand if I didn't. To have someone I've worked with and respected for nearly a decade first off ask me to partake in something that gave her much joy, well that was kind of her I realize. Second, she recognized that just perhaps it wasn't for me, and well she wasn't going to hold it against me. Can any person with half a heart in this world, understand truly while I read the novel? And in the end, because she knew how much I loved cookies . . . brought one in for me. She sat there in her house with 4 young children running around and thought, "Hey, I'll bring Tina a cookie." Truth be told, seeing her face beam as I we talked about the characters in the novel made her so happy, I could have done without the cookie. I'll be reading New Moon, for several reasons. I like talking to Marybeth about these sorts of things, and well I want to read about some werewolves and vampires fighting (hey Steph, did you happen to watch any of the Underworld movies or read the comics before you had that "dream" that inspired this franchise . . . just asking). Cookies are just the icing on the cake. (And yes, I used "cookies," "icing" and "cake" in the same delicious sentence.)
How the hell does any of this tie into Neoliberalism? Keep your pants on, I'll get to it. A few months back, I went to karaoke night with a good friend. We saw everyone's favorite karaoke singer, Mel, sing a duet, Bridge Over Troubled Water, with someone. This was itself a poignant moment for me, the last time I saw him sing, he was singing his usual, The Great Pretender. I got home that night after a few Amaretto Sours (a drink I don't usual get unless at an Asian Cuisine restaurant, they don't skimp on the alcohol) and looking back now, it was the sober part of me that got me into trouble. The sober part of me thought twice about tracking my wet UGGs upstairs, so I leaned on the door knob of the closed door as I took the boots off. Then the sober part of me realized that the semi-drunk part of me would be thirsty for water should I wake up during the night and that I should grab a bottled water from the front porch. So, and this may be where the sober part of me took a moment's rest, and the drunk part of me took reign, but with my body still crouched fixing my sock with my left hand, my right hand, already on the door knob earlier for leverage, turned the knob and swung the door into the right side of my face. I didn't swing it hard, but hard enough to knock me back in pain. I realized in the next two minutes as I sat on the steps leading upstairs with the cold, frigid air from the front porch sobering me up along with the pain, had I been one drink drunker I would have just sloshed my wet boots and all upstairs and fallen into bed.
The next morning, any hangover I had, was eclipsed by the pain I felt from the door incident. The huge welt on my face didn't make me feel like a vision of beauty, either. It was a Saturday, which I happened to have off, and I really don't know what one does on Saturdays, so when I woke up and saw the damage in the mirror, I decided it would be a day spent alone. To my surprise, besides the funny things I saw on TV or on the web that day, the other things that made me smile, were random texts from this curmudgeon I know. I remember getting the first one and before reading it thinking, "Please nothing too heavy today Mr. Intentional. I don't need any life-lessons right now." Instead, I learned about a few good movies that were out, and well, it wasn't anything specific, and I wouldn't dare say that anything this character says or does is ever general, but I was just happy for this quaint amount of human contact. I dare say for the way I was feeling that day, it was perfect.
And now for the tying together. Believe you and me, I could never have guessed that reading Twilight or opening that text, would make me feel good. Good in a way, that nothing in the world could have replaced--- human contact (communication), human connectedness, friendship. True friendship might have its own set of ethics, it might, but I seriously doubt there are any set rules governing friendship, either way friendship is beyond neoliberalism. And for all those romantics out there, if your lover isn't your friend (first and foremost) consider them a foe.
. . . the Eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was that important to them; there ought to be as many for love. --- Margaret Atwood
I am about to point out a sad fact. In this neoliberal society, we have more words in our every day vernacular for "money" than "love." And I thought I would end this blog on a good note.
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