One of the reasons I am happiest in L.A. is that I absolutely don’t understand the fascination that so many of my fellow academics (especially English ones) have with the practice of “ironic detachment”. I talked with my brother about this today at some length. Forced to choose, I’d rather have vulgar sincerity than witty cynicism; I’d rather be surrounded by folks possessed by ineloquent but genuine passions than by those who are models of articulate and affected restraint. No wonder I’ve got a soft spot for certain southerners and pentecostals. Thank God I live where I do…
Still, any culture that consumes Cadbury Cream Eggs year ’round is fine by me… I am devouring the aforementioned, a most dubious form of carbo-loading before my flight back to LAX on Thursday, and my 50K ultra in the San Gabriels on Saturday…
It must be a Kiwi thing, but I prefer ironic restraint. I read Austen, not Bronte, and listen to Bach and Mozart, not Beethoven. I just don’t practice it as often as I ought to! ;-)
I’m with Hugo on this one - sometimes I just want to shake a Briton to tell them to “get to the point”, as opposed to using irony and subterfuge to avoid discussing anything remotely personal.