ES McAllister

I’ve discovered I like LED candles, jazz, and my stereo turned just loud enough to feel the horns in my ribs. It’s funny the things that make life brighter without actually burning.

Listening back, it’s loud, sloppy, off-key. And it’s awesome. We didn’t know how to be afraid yet. We just plugged in and made noise. And sometimes, that’s enough.

Fifty gigs of music - god, we thought those songs could save the world. Old demos from every band I ever made noise in. My friends too. Beautiful messes, all of them.

Found my old high school laptop. The thing weighs more than my student loans. Dug out the hard drive like a miner searching for lost treasure.

Just wrapped a lecture on the mosaics of San Vitale in Ravenna - where politics, piety, and imperial pageantry shimmer in gold. Justinian and Theodora don’t just appear in the sanctuary - they stake a claim to sacred space.

I am happy to present the CFP for the Sixth Symposium on Crusade Studies at Saint Louis University.

April 10-11, 2026

Crusadestudies.org

Feel free to DM here or email me at crusades@slu.edu

#medieval #crusades #callforpapers

Walked around campus in a daze. The buildings looked like something my mother once described when she talked about college, like it was magic. Strange. I got the keys to my office today. Maybe I’ll hang up my diploma.

Move’s done. New city, same old bones. Thank god for the movers. paid saints in steel-toe boots. And somehow, every damn glass made it. Small miracles wrapped in bubble wrap.

Back in my parents’ town. The coffee’s awful, the baked goods are divine, and there’s a lake out the door that hasn’t aged a day. Nobody remembers me. That part stings more than it should.

I remember Bourdain asking people what they do first when they get back home. Me? I go straight to the cafe of my old roommate Andy for an espresso shot. The guy pulls a shot like he’s defusing a bomb. Care, concern, expertise -heaven in 1.5 ounces.

Midwest humidity thick enough to chew. I’m sleeping in my parents’ basement like it’s 2005. Kitty scratches at the door like some ghost demanding entry. I let him in. What else can you do?

Last night in St. Louis after six years. Everything’s in boxes. TV on the floor. I’m in a folding chair with a cold beer, wondering how a whole era ends with a quiet click and not a marching band.

What a kind thing to say.

Packing the apartment after grad school. Books like bricks. Handwritten drafts I thought would change the world. Page weights, fountain pens, ghosts. All of it tremendously heavy. And still, I take it with me.

I’ll read until the wheels leave the ground and maybe by then I’ll believe in happy endings again. I think Vonnegut would say “so it goes” here.

I am not looking forward to my flight but fiction helps. It reminds me there are other worlds, and in some of them, people get where they’re going without turbulence or delays.

There’s something right about reading adventure novels in an airport. Everyone’s between places, pretending to be someone else. It’s the most honest time to escape into lies.

After a week of brilliant academic chatter(saints, scribes, plagues, popes) I find myself at the airport craving fiction. Not theory. Not historiography. Just stories. Preferably with conspiracy and code breaking

The brick buildings round Leeds(red, sturdy, unbothered) felt like old friends too. Like they’ve seen worse and decided to stick around anyway. I liked that.

I felt grateful, which is rare and a little suspicious. But I’ll take it. This job, this life- it’s weird and hard and beautiful.

There’s something strange and wonderful about being around people who care deeply about long-dead monks and marginalia. It makes the world feel less lonely.

First IMC Leeds. Hundreds of medievalists buzzing like academic bees, but somehow it felt quiet when it needed to. I saw old friends. Made a few new ones.

English breakfast, strong coffee, and smart people saying interesting things about the Middle Ages. For a moment, the world makes sense. Even the tomatoes are cheering me on.

First day of IMC Leeds. Two thousand medievalists, hundreds of papers, centuries of footnotes. But honestly? I’m just thrilled it’s 59° and I can wear a jacket without sweating like a heretic at a council.

LtoR: Evan McAllister, Jan Vandeburie, Thomas Morin

SMRS 2025 wrapped up. I’m exhausted, inspired, and slightly sunburned. The Crusade Studies Forum hosted three sessions—great turnout, sharp papers, good questions. For once, everything went according to plan. Almost suspiciously so.

Heres some photographic proof.

Academic conferences are supposed to be inspiring—but somehow, every time, I’m still surprised and grateful when they actually are.

Scholars from around the world gathered today for three sessions hosted by SLU’s Crusade Studies Forum at SMRS. Topics ranged from new archaeological discoveries and biblical exegesis to relic theft and the military orders in Iberia—crusade studies alive and well.

First official day of SMRS, an Alkaline Trio song hit my shuffle. Took me straight back to high school. I thought, “What would young Evan think of me now?” Felt worlds apart—until I remembered Alkaline wore the same kind of suits I’m in today.

Trying to look academic in the summer heat is a losing battle. Blazers wilt, linen clings, and my brain feels medium-rare by noon.