The other week I was at a new bar on a Saturday, and working b/c I'm under pressure with dissertation revisions.
And, I was reading Foucault.
There was a single (white) guy next to me, and next thing I know he's chatting me up, and he's an MBA student visiting for the summer, and he tells me about how interesting it was for him to read the History of Sexuality a few years ago.
"It's like, you're drinking a beer now, but that doesn't make you a beerist!", he was like.
I almost felt like the book was meaningful to him, because it was giving him permission.
Social function of knowledge!
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