I get all the news I need on the weather report....
Suffering from a familiar problem again. A few hours ago, while eating lunch (ramen, if you were wondering), reading 1984 and listening to the Current, it again occured to me that I'm stuck. I know pretty much nothing outside the realms of literature and pop music. Seriously. I can expound on the cultural relevance of "Dallas," a show I've scarcely even seen, or on the late 70s-thru-80s Madchester scene, or on the revolution of literary social critique in American literature that began with the Gilded age and reached its pinnacle in the likes of Faulkner and Fitzgerald (but my heart will always be with Cabell, Dreiser, Lewis, and their ilk), but that's about that. I'm a middlin decent cook, I understand, in theory, the internal combustion engine, though about all I could do with a car is refill the fluids (softdrink's a fluid).
I should get some kind of hobby. I should have majored in something other than English, something I excelled in long before I got to college level studies (honestly, I've read more literature than college has ever tried to force on me, and I've done it so often for so long that I can critique it on my own...I certainly don't need fucking 45 min. peer discussion sessions on the meaning of religion in A Canticle for Leibowitz or the effectiveness of feminist critique on Shakespeare). Like, I don't know, journalism or something.
Too late know. I'm stuck. Blarg.
Suffering from a familiar problem again. A few hours ago, while eating lunch (ramen, if you were wondering), reading 1984 and listening to the Current, it again occured to me that I'm stuck. I know pretty much nothing outside the realms of literature and pop music. Seriously. I can expound on the cultural relevance of "Dallas," a show I've scarcely even seen, or on the late 70s-thru-80s Madchester scene, or on the revolution of literary social critique in American literature that began with the Gilded age and reached its pinnacle in the likes of Faulkner and Fitzgerald (but my heart will always be with Cabell, Dreiser, Lewis, and their ilk), but that's about that. I'm a middlin decent cook, I understand, in theory, the internal combustion engine, though about all I could do with a car is refill the fluids (softdrink's a fluid).
I should get some kind of hobby. I should have majored in something other than English, something I excelled in long before I got to college level studies (honestly, I've read more literature than college has ever tried to force on me, and I've done it so often for so long that I can critique it on my own...I certainly don't need fucking 45 min. peer discussion sessions on the meaning of religion in A Canticle for Leibowitz or the effectiveness of feminist critique on Shakespeare). Like, I don't know, journalism or something.
Too late know. I'm stuck. Blarg.
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my roommate stumbles in, asks if i have homework, then tells me we're going to the bar. Have fun Conrad, don't die. And remember my position on the Rebekah situation: "take 'er easy, and if she's easy take 'er twice." Wait, hoffmann's words coming out of my mouth.