I brought it upon myself ... again. Eleven o’clock at night, 3,000 words to write and a 3pm deadline looming like a visit from your parents, it was STUDying abroad all over again. But this time, I was ready ... sort of.
By “ready” I do not mean to say that I was well prepared on the topic, or that I dutifully planned out my approach, or that I had any idea of what I was going to write about; but, I was “ready” in the sense that I realized days and weeks before that the completion of my essay for Capitalism and its Critics would come down to this ... another all nighter.
I knew that I would be completing my analysis on Weber and Marx’s theories on capitalism in this selected manner because it was Derby Day. Derby Day is an annual contest between University of East Anglia and University of Essex, where the two universities go head to head in 50 sports, an exhaustive competition of athletic ability of both unis’ first team club sports. As UEA students need no encouragement to get enthusiastic for Derby Day (whether competing or not), it was likewise beneficial to students of Essex University, for though they lost miserably across the board to UEA, the good news was that, for the day, at least they weren’t in Essex. With such a day full of sports, school spirit and (if you attended the rugby match) heavy drinking, I took every opportunity derby day offered to lure me away from my books, realizing full well that I would not be sleeping tonight.
My first distraction (Er ... um, showing of school spirit) was the men’s basketball game. At this game, UEA showed its class. Commendable displays from Dwight Dunston and Simon Rotherham gave UEA a comfortable lead throughout the game; but, in the end, it was the play of Mikey Lenane that sealed the victory. I don’t mean to lavish unnecessary praise on my boy, but he single-handedly won the match. Let me set the scene: 43.7 seconds left, UEA is up by 7 points, the game is on the line, and who but Michael Lenane is at the foul line. As clinical as a serial killer, Mikey goes one for two at the line to put the game beyond all doubt, sealing the victory for UEA. Glum faces and scattered tears commenced as Lenny’s second free throw swished through the net. Essex knew they had been broken by a basketball masterclass.
After the game, I was back at the books. Now I’m not saying that “The Protestant Ethic” by Max Weber is not interesting, far from it, but I was eagerly looking for another excuse to procrastinate. After plowing through a couple chapters of Weber and Marx, I found my distraction. I realized that I had not run in the past four or five days. I convince myself that long ago I read some article that I haven’t read about some positive correlation that doesn’t exist between physical exercise and essays on theories of capitalism, so I decided to indulge once again into the foggy grey could of procrastination.
I lace up my Nike’s and step outside. It was a glorious day out. The air was warm, the sun was out and I had a spring in my step. I take to the trails winding through UEA’s wilderness and Earlham Park, around the lake, and I recognized that I am quite good at procrastinating. That is to say, I procrastinate well. I was just about to make my way back to the village, when I realized that the rugby team had a match, today being derby day and all. I was not sure when the match was, and I figured I probably missed it, but I jogged over to Colney Lane to check out the scene.
The rugby team is playing, and it’s fucking packed. Hoards of students were at the match, shouting, cheering, drinking and watching little rugby. The entire sloping edge of the field was littered with rowdy UEA-ians, and soon enough, I found some friends and sat down to match the match.
It was a great atmosphere. It was a feeling of university spirit for UEA that I had yet to encounter during my year abroad. Students watching rugby, cheering for their school, and getting seriously fucked up. A few yards from me, two lads starting wrestling. This went on for a bit until one of the duo ripped his chinos, which prompted a break to get back to drinking. The next I saw of this guy was 25 minutes later when, clad in only his boxers and a hat, he took to the pitch in a drowsy airplane run, giving players high-fives, eventually exiting the pitch on the other side.
UEA won the match, a close contest, 23-21 and more props go out to mates of mine, Steven Hyde and his try, (an actual accomplishment that doesn’t need embellishment). As I left the match and picked back up on my run, I dreaded the looming chore of Weber and Marx, and the 3,000 words that I, as of now had 21 hours to write ... what’s worse is that this the second time I have done this to myself.
Upon getting back to the flat, I showered, had tea with the flatmates and at about 8, I settled down to do some serious reading with the hopes of teaching myself enough about Marx and Weber’s explanations of the rise of capitalism that I could form some semblance of an argument about social theory and the nation state.
I sat back on my bed, and read poorly. That is to say, I read inefficiently; but after an un-diligently spent couple of hours, I had my argument: I was going to agree with Marx’s outlined preconditions for capitalism, but concede that Weber’s theory of the “Protestant Ethic” explains most effectively why capitalism took hold. It was now about midnight, but finally I knew what I was going write about. After this important breakthrough, I chilled out and a mate of mine came over. I explained my argument, she thought it sounded pretty solid.
After the procrastination sesh, I took to the kitchen for some munch. Having demonstrated my incompetence in responsibly preparing an argument or even some basic ideas upon my subject, I did however make an intelligent run to tesco earlier in the day (I viewed it at the time as just another excuse to leave my books, but now I saw it as an act of inspired genius) in anticipation of this exact scenario. I poured myself a bowl of Wheeto’s, mixed with 2/3 skim milk and 1/3 chocolate milk, took to my laptop and I started writing.
I think it was the bowl of Weeto’s, but once I got stuck in with Marx and Weber, I worked diligently, thought scrupulously and wrote meticulously. Each idea after the next was laid neatly on the page, thoughtfully discussed, and impeccably written. Each piece of evidence was smoothly introduced, clinically synthesised and systemically examined. Marx’s preconditions for capitalism took on more significance, became clearer, and his ideas on social class (though not particularly relevant to my argument) became more painfully true. Weber’s sociological fact-finding mission to explain the rise of capitalism became a myriad mystery of history and religion, a riddle of Catholic hierarchy and Lutheran philosophies, explaining on ideological grounds why core ideals of Protestantism led Europeans centuries ago to acquire capital in a vigorous manner that Catholics did not follow. Both men were geniuses in their own right, and I lavished in the opportunity to scrutinize their work in juxtaposition to my own thoughts and ideas about the world. In a word, it was fun.
As I wrote page after page, time being irrelevant at this point, I was kicking this paper’s ass. I do not know whether to be proud or embarrassed, but I am convinced of the assertion that my argument on Weber and Marx was my best written paper thus far during my study abroad. This quality of writing reminds me of a year ago in English 435 when I was crankin’ out close reading papers like it was my job ... all day, err day. With few papers to compete with or left to be written this year, Marx, Weber and the Rise of Capitalism is likely to remain at the top, but obviously I would welcome its replacement.
Morning came and, along with light, it brought an end to my frenetic, yet productive whirlwind of writing. I celebrate with another bowl, for now it is breakfast time; and, for the first time in what feels like ages, I relax. I reflect upon the night, I learned a couple things. It gets light at ten to six in the morning, but with the change to British Summer Time, on Sunday it will get light at ten to five. Also, I reread a frantic 500-word comment I left on my last blog post, spawned by a quick shift in concentration in response comment left by a reader and I realized I went way too far (sorry about that dude).
A bit of mid-morning editing (but surprisingly little) and I’m done. Two o’clock and I stroll down to campus to hand it in. The sun is out again and my Birkenstocks allow a nice cool breeze to tickle my toes. I hand in the paper with a great feeling of accomplishment, and I can’t make up my mind whether I feel like sleeping. I get a text from Mikey reading: “I just woke up and saw that it’s an awesome day again. Day drink?” My mind conjures flashes of a couple Kronnenbourgs and a cigarette beneath the sun in the square, and then calculates that this is the perfect way to unwind. “Alright, I’m in.” As our group sits in the square watching another perfect Norwich day begin to take its first steps in becoming another perfect Norwich evening, I have no obligations between now and my trip to Edinburgh this weekend, but a couple beers to drink and a couple cigarettes to smoke.
The life of a stud abroad is a rich one indeed, and sometimes, you can learn a lot in areas that you don’t expect to. You take up the experiential over the intellectual at first, but then the experiential wraps back around and you learn more in both categories than you ever thought you could. What starts as Derby Day and an excuse to postpone work leads to Derby Day and new experiences, no sleep and an A-paper. Twain’s quote: “I never let my schooling interfere with my education” seems relevant here ... LW
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