AS 11/14

I’m deciding not to comment on last Tuesday’s class. Primarily because it’s done its job well, and I’ve been talking with various classmates this entire week about the class and Dr. Rog’s experimentation in subverting the hegemony. I have nothing to add to the topic that my brilliant classmates haven’t already covered in their blogs. I do want to discuss what I’ve learned. First, what I don’t know -- I’m still not sure exactly what PoMo is other then everything that everyone has ever said about it. Infuriarating and disturbing, yes, but also insanely exhilarating. I am now unable to watch television uncritically, advertisements cause my circuits to fry, and lunch is no longer a simple matter of eating. No, PoMo intrudes even upon my enjoyment of a Cuban sandwich. I went to a Cuban café this weekend. It’s a cute little shop tucked away on a side street in Winter Park. I walked in, skirted several large woven baskets filled with fake loaves of bread, ordered at a stainless steel counter, and sat at a table with a glass top covering a burlap sack with the words “Authentic Cuban Café” stamped in large, no-nonsense black letters. Huh, I thought to myself, authenticity is at the authority of anyone handy with black spray paint and a stencil. Niiiice. This thought went through my head on a breezy, lazy Saturday afternoon when all I was trying to do was grab a decent meal. PoMo strikes again. The hegemonic bricolage of the culture industry assaults my senses wherever I go. Now that I know the signs, I can no longer escape the signification.