riff raff on events - a subjunctive mood

RACEDAY. I'm bundled on my balcony watching the sunrise as I hydrate. It's a good life. As I try to keep calm and read race strategies, I'm thinking on how I psych myself out. I don't want to think about it too much, though, lest it stop working!

This week I had the pleasure of giving a talk at U of Toronto on Events. It was a remarkably interdisciplinary panel with projects from Women's Studies (a discipline of non-disciplinarity), Geography and Forestry. I thought "events" a timely topic as Occupy movements sweep major cities across the world this weekend, especially as two of us discussed the media's role in shaping our reception of events as such. As the chair made reference to in his introductory comments, it's funny to have an event on events. Look how funny we are.

I was stimulated by both panelists, particularly by David Roberts' talk on what he terms "made-for TV planning," the "politics of urban knowledge creation." For his dissertation, he went to South Africa during the world cup (COOL. Why didn't I pick a topic that involves beaches?) to write on urban life versus television coverage of the event. I was biased toward his theorizing, which added to how super impressed I was. For most of us, the myth of neutrality of journalism has long been debunked. I think of journalism as possibly the most overtly political discursive construction available. But after a few days, on this raceday morn, David's talk has me thinking beyond the media construction of the events that are imagined for us (via boosterism, selected images, etc.) to the events we create for ourselves. Events on events. What's the difference?

On the event of the talk, for example, I prepared by making some notes on what I wanted to say, and then reading it in my head as I bounced about town with coffee in tow. I didn't do much that day except live in my imagination. The hour prior to the talk, I sat down with a large water and timed my head-reading. Then I had an apple. Then I talked. Headrush. After I had a beer. Done.

But then people in my life asked me how it went. Well, to communicate this and to make some sense of it for myself, I created a snapshot of what happened - some talking points - and relayed them as honestly as possible. "It went well. I was more nervous than I thought I'd be, but the words still came out. And rich discussion followed, so I felt satisfied. It probably went okay." But truthfully I don't remember how I felt about it. I barely remember what I said.

I remember feeling relaxed in the room prior to the event of speaking. The space wasn't very big and attendees could fit around a large boardroom table. In my imagination, I had pictured something like this, and had thus envisioned myself delivering the talk from seated position. But I was the last speaker of three and the others stood, so I when I got to the podium to arrange my powerpoint, I made a game-day decision to stand. Psych! As I rolled through my introductory statements, I felt myself becoming increasingly nervous. I was put off by this, which made it worse. I think I may have stopped breathing mid-sentence at some point. I may have almost died.

I'm recording this to consider the ways in which we distance ourselves from meaningful engagement with our human experiences. This is an old idea in memory work, but I ask, what is lost? Might there be something important to install about my nervousness in the room? About the pressure to stand? Politics of the people around me? Whatever? As I argue for consideration of sociopolitical context surrounding global events so that we might install richer historical narratives, I wonder what can be done to reflect on positionality in the mini-events of everyday life.

On this note, I go to a running event. I will panic when you ask me how it went.