Hello dear readers. I'm sorry for the recent lapse in posting. I have effectively been on vacation for the past month, but now it's time to get back to work, and by that I mean, get back to procrastinating by writing blog posts.
I have a 15,000-word dissertation due in about three months, so expect many a post between now and then. To kick off my return, I would like to link you to something I think you should know about.
If you've never heard of Ze Frank, he is many things, but I will use the title Wikipedia assigns him, which is "American online performance artist." He is all about using the internet to bring communities together through projects and songs and thoughtful meditations. I'm not really explaining him very well, but what you really need to know is that he's inspirational and funny and sometimes, very strange. But in a good way.
From March 2006 to March 2007, he had a daily web program called the show, of which several of my friends were huge fans. He ended the show after that year, but now he is doing a new show, aptly titled a show, and I think it's great. Each episode of both the show and a show is short (between 3 and 5 minutes) and very fast-paced. Here is the first episode of a show. It is "an invocation for beginning," which is great if you've ever had trouble getting started with something.
If you're not used to Ze Frank's style, he may take some getting used to, but I love him and his internet projects. He also has a website called Star.Me, where members respond to daily missions and then give each other stars for a job well done. Again, it encourages creativity and community interaction.
Finally, here is a video of Ze talking at the TED conference. He explains what it is he does a lot better than I can by giving examples of some of the interactive projects he has encouraged people to get involved with. It's pretty neat. Enjoy!
Friday, May 18, 2012
Friday, April 27, 2012
A debilitating fear of mine
Sorry for yet another epic lapse in posting, dear readers. I've been on vacation and, thus, doing no work. I find I write my best posts when I'm procrastinating. I will get back to my Dublin posts soon, but I thought I'd take a moment to share a bit about myself.
I hate roaches.
I'm fairly certain that nobody really likes roaches (except maybe this one guy at the Edinburgh Zoo or the weird kid everyone went to middle school with [apologies if you were that kid]), but I have to admit that I am utterly terrified of them. It's probably not wise to reveal my weaknesses on the Internet. It's like if Superman had a blog and wrote a post about how much he hated kryptonite. But something happened to me the other night, and it was too good a story not to relate.
I was in the shower, about to get out, when I notice movement on the right-most edge of my shower door. Take a moment to enjoy, below, an exclusive video of the inside of my shower so that you can understand the spacial arrangement of my story. I look closer and notice, to my horror, a roach crawling around on the glass. At this point, I'm safe because the exit from my shower is on the left, and the horrible creature is outside the glass. I decide to make a break for it, at the same moment that he decides to start crawling over to the left side of the glass.
I freeze, hoping he will stop and allow me to hurry out, but no such luck. The cockroach crawls all the way over to the left-most edge, effectively trapping me inside my shower. I can get out the other side, but he's also right by the door, so I will have to pass him to escape. I'm contemplating all this when the unthinkable happens: I look, and I can't see the cockroach. He's disappeared, either above me, where he could fall down on my head, or out of my shower area into the bathroom proper, where he could be lying in wait.
And it was at this moment that I realized, perhaps for the first time in my life, how utterly, completely, irrationally afraid of cockroaches I am. I am frozen in fear at having to open my bathroom door and possibly encounter a bug.
Luckily, I brought my phone into the shower room that night so I could listen to some sweet jams whilst I bathed. So I did what any normal person would do: I called my dad, who was in the living room, to come in and deal with the roach. And good thing, too! My dad arrived just in time to find the roach escaping my bathroom and entering MY BEDROOM. Still cowering in my shower, I hear sounds of roach spray and then my dad's called assurances that he got it. Much relieved, I emerged at last from my glass prison.
Only later did I stop to analyze the source of this totally irrational fear, and I came up with two pretty decent reasons why I'm afraid of cockroaches.
The first is a game my mother and I used to play when I was little. I say "game," but it was more like a battle. She would pretend that her hand was a bug crawling up my arm. I would then smack it to determine if the "bug" was a spider or a roach. I always prayed it would be a spider. Because a "spider" would immediately flop on its back and curl up, dead. Smacking a "roach," on the other hand, resulted in the hand-bug scurrying all over me and then hiding in my armpit. I would have to smack a roach several more times before it "died." It was essentially tickling with an added element of play-fighting. It was meant to be fun (and it was, mostly), and my mom hoped to teach me about different bugs. What it taught me was that roaches don't die; they scurry all over your body and then hide in your armpit. Horrifying.
This early training to fear roaches was reinforced when I was ten or eleven and a friend and I were swimming at my grandparents' house. My grandparents had an indoor pool with a rec-room right off it. Generally, after a swim, I would bathe in the guest room shower, but this particular day, I thought it would be fun to use the rec-room shower, which I had never used. (I loved novelty as a child, often choosing to spend several night in a row sleeping on the couch, simply for a change of pace.) Still clad in our bathing suits, my friend and I hopped in the shower to rinse off. Everything was going fine until I felt something on my leg. I looked down to see no less than a dozen huge roaches coming out of the drain and up our legs. The shower had been out of use for so long that they had clearly nested down there, and the hot water brought them out. Needless to say, I was mortified, and I guess I've never really recovered.
So there you have it, dear reader. Perhaps my greatest fear. Please don't try to use it against me.
I hate roaches.
I'm fairly certain that nobody really likes roaches (except maybe this one guy at the Edinburgh Zoo or the weird kid everyone went to middle school with [apologies if you were that kid]), but I have to admit that I am utterly terrified of them. It's probably not wise to reveal my weaknesses on the Internet. It's like if Superman had a blog and wrote a post about how much he hated kryptonite. But something happened to me the other night, and it was too good a story not to relate.
I was in the shower, about to get out, when I notice movement on the right-most edge of my shower door. Take a moment to enjoy, below, an exclusive video of the inside of my shower so that you can understand the spacial arrangement of my story. I look closer and notice, to my horror, a roach crawling around on the glass. At this point, I'm safe because the exit from my shower is on the left, and the horrible creature is outside the glass. I decide to make a break for it, at the same moment that he decides to start crawling over to the left side of the glass.
I freeze, hoping he will stop and allow me to hurry out, but no such luck. The cockroach crawls all the way over to the left-most edge, effectively trapping me inside my shower. I can get out the other side, but he's also right by the door, so I will have to pass him to escape. I'm contemplating all this when the unthinkable happens: I look, and I can't see the cockroach. He's disappeared, either above me, where he could fall down on my head, or out of my shower area into the bathroom proper, where he could be lying in wait.
And it was at this moment that I realized, perhaps for the first time in my life, how utterly, completely, irrationally afraid of cockroaches I am. I am frozen in fear at having to open my bathroom door and possibly encounter a bug.
Luckily, I brought my phone into the shower room that night so I could listen to some sweet jams whilst I bathed. So I did what any normal person would do: I called my dad, who was in the living room, to come in and deal with the roach. And good thing, too! My dad arrived just in time to find the roach escaping my bathroom and entering MY BEDROOM. Still cowering in my shower, I hear sounds of roach spray and then my dad's called assurances that he got it. Much relieved, I emerged at last from my glass prison.
Only later did I stop to analyze the source of this totally irrational fear, and I came up with two pretty decent reasons why I'm afraid of cockroaches.
The first is a game my mother and I used to play when I was little. I say "game," but it was more like a battle. She would pretend that her hand was a bug crawling up my arm. I would then smack it to determine if the "bug" was a spider or a roach. I always prayed it would be a spider. Because a "spider" would immediately flop on its back and curl up, dead. Smacking a "roach," on the other hand, resulted in the hand-bug scurrying all over me and then hiding in my armpit. I would have to smack a roach several more times before it "died." It was essentially tickling with an added element of play-fighting. It was meant to be fun (and it was, mostly), and my mom hoped to teach me about different bugs. What it taught me was that roaches don't die; they scurry all over your body and then hide in your armpit. Horrifying.
This early training to fear roaches was reinforced when I was ten or eleven and a friend and I were swimming at my grandparents' house. My grandparents had an indoor pool with a rec-room right off it. Generally, after a swim, I would bathe in the guest room shower, but this particular day, I thought it would be fun to use the rec-room shower, which I had never used. (I loved novelty as a child, often choosing to spend several night in a row sleeping on the couch, simply for a change of pace.) Still clad in our bathing suits, my friend and I hopped in the shower to rinse off. Everything was going fine until I felt something on my leg. I looked down to see no less than a dozen huge roaches coming out of the drain and up our legs. The shower had been out of use for so long that they had clearly nested down there, and the hot water brought them out. Needless to say, I was mortified, and I guess I've never really recovered.
So there you have it, dear reader. Perhaps my greatest fear. Please don't try to use it against me.
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Dublin: Part 1: Housing Adventure
My friend Sabrina and I decided to book our trip to Dublin in November of last year. Four of our friends had already booked two months prior and obtained a private four-person room in a hostel. By the time Sabrina and I booked, however, there were either no hostels available for Saturday night (March 17) or they were available for an exorbitant price. Because I have a blog devoted to adventure (and because I'm cheap), Sabrina and I decided not to book a room for that night and have the "adventure" of being homeless in Dublin. Sounds like a great plan, right?
Well, as our trip got closer, the plan began to seem less and less great. Because, the truth, dear reader, is that despite my love of adventure, I don't love putting my life at risk. It's is a fine line! The more I thought about it, the more nervous I got. In order to combat my anxiety, I made extensive plans regarding where we could spend our evening (i.e. clubs, all-night diners, Wal-marts?), and I packed in such a way that I could travel around the city all night, unencumbered by my luggage. Despite these precautions, on March 16, the Friday of our departure, I suddenly realized that being murdered in Dublin might be a very real possibility if I didn't find a place to sleep. And on a simply pragmatic level, it occurred to me that staying up all night on St. Patrick's Day would not be conducive to productive site-seeing on Sunday.
And so it was that I begged Sabrina to let me book us a room. Being a good friend, she authorized me to book whatever I could find, regardless of the price, so I bit the bullet and found a hostel with two beds at £60 per person for the night. I pulled out my credit card and was keying in my card number when... my phone rang! I halted my typing because my caller ID showed the name of one of my friends who was already in Dublin. What could this be? I thought. Here is the conversation that followed:
Me: Hello?
Friend: Hey, how would you like a place to sleep tomorrow night?
Me: Uhhhh, I would LOVE a place to sleep tomorrow night! Whatcha got?
Friend: So, it turns out, the private 4-person room we booked is actually a 6-person room. Thanks to a mix-up at the hostel, those 2 extra beds aren't booked for tomorrow night, and the hostel said you guys can have them for £25 each.
Me: AHHHHH!!! (drops phone, passes out from joy)
Ok, that last bit might have happened internally, but I'm sure you can imagine. I was overjoyed and immediately took him up on the offer. So we got to Dublin and had a great stay in a lovely hostel.
But that's not quite the whole story. The morning of the 17th, I went to check with the front desk to make sure there was no problem with us moving into the room and to check in. The woman working at the desk said it was fine and that we could go ahead and move our stuff in (since the other people in there were our friends) but that we couldn't technically check in until after 2. Then she thought for a moment, turned to her co-worker, explained to him the situation, and then said, "Do they have to pay?" The man paused, thought, and said, "Nah, it's Paddy's Day!"
It was a St. Patrick's Day miracle! So there you go, dear reader. If you don't plan ahead by booking a hostel for St. Patrick's Day in Dublin, everything will work out and you'll get a free room. On second thought, that may not be the lesson to take away from this. Let's just say the lesson is stick with me because I'm super lucky. Ooh! Maybe it's... the Luck of the Hapless American. That's a thing, right?
Well, as our trip got closer, the plan began to seem less and less great. Because, the truth, dear reader, is that despite my love of adventure, I don't love putting my life at risk. It's is a fine line! The more I thought about it, the more nervous I got. In order to combat my anxiety, I made extensive plans regarding where we could spend our evening (i.e. clubs, all-night diners, Wal-marts?), and I packed in such a way that I could travel around the city all night, unencumbered by my luggage. Despite these precautions, on March 16, the Friday of our departure, I suddenly realized that being murdered in Dublin might be a very real possibility if I didn't find a place to sleep. And on a simply pragmatic level, it occurred to me that staying up all night on St. Patrick's Day would not be conducive to productive site-seeing on Sunday.
And so it was that I begged Sabrina to let me book us a room. Being a good friend, she authorized me to book whatever I could find, regardless of the price, so I bit the bullet and found a hostel with two beds at £60 per person for the night. I pulled out my credit card and was keying in my card number when... my phone rang! I halted my typing because my caller ID showed the name of one of my friends who was already in Dublin. What could this be? I thought. Here is the conversation that followed:
Me: Hello?
Friend: Hey, how would you like a place to sleep tomorrow night?
Me: Uhhhh, I would LOVE a place to sleep tomorrow night! Whatcha got?
Friend: So, it turns out, the private 4-person room we booked is actually a 6-person room. Thanks to a mix-up at the hostel, those 2 extra beds aren't booked for tomorrow night, and the hostel said you guys can have them for £25 each.
Me: AHHHHH!!! (drops phone, passes out from joy)
Ok, that last bit might have happened internally, but I'm sure you can imagine. I was overjoyed and immediately took him up on the offer. So we got to Dublin and had a great stay in a lovely hostel.
But that's not quite the whole story. The morning of the 17th, I went to check with the front desk to make sure there was no problem with us moving into the room and to check in. The woman working at the desk said it was fine and that we could go ahead and move our stuff in (since the other people in there were our friends) but that we couldn't technically check in until after 2. Then she thought for a moment, turned to her co-worker, explained to him the situation, and then said, "Do they have to pay?" The man paused, thought, and said, "Nah, it's Paddy's Day!"
It was a St. Patrick's Day miracle! So there you go, dear reader. If you don't plan ahead by booking a hostel for St. Patrick's Day in Dublin, everything will work out and you'll get a free room. On second thought, that may not be the lesson to take away from this. Let's just say the lesson is stick with me because I'm super lucky. Ooh! Maybe it's... the Luck of the Hapless American. That's a thing, right?
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Dublin: Preface
I spent the weekend in Dublin for that most Irish of American holidays, St. Patrick's Day. There is so much to say about that amazing city and my long weekend, so I have decided that I will split it into a series of posts, each with a different theme. But it will take time and energy, both things I don't have today. So for now, I will leave you with this picture of me in the one tourist-y souvenir I allowed myself.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
The X-Files raises a lot of questions
Not many people know this about me, but for a brief period in my youth I was big into The X-Files. I think it started when I saw the episode where Mulder has to stop the bank from blowing up over and over again a la Groundhog Day. As this fan video suggests, the episode was just as madcap and wacky as the Bill Murray film. Needless to say, I loved it, and I began watching the show pretty regularly. But then Mulder left and since I always had a little thing for David Duchovny, I set The X-Files aside. Until now.
With all 437 episodes available to watch on the Internet, I have decided to watch the series from the beginning. I'm currently nine episodes in, and this show has got me thinking about a few things.
First, Mulder really comes off as a crazy person. If this show weren't predicated on the assumption that supernatural things really exist, the whole thing would be like watching one man's slow, sad descent into madness. The way he uses logic to justify his insane theories only reinforces the impression that he is some sort of high-functioning schizophrenic. It doesn't help that the very organization for which he works essentially disregards and mocks everything he does. In the first episode, we learn that the FBI has relegated him to the basement and sent Dana Scully to be his partner for the sole purpose of "debunking the X-Files." So he's an FBI agent who spends all of his time investigating aliens and ghosts, but that's ok, because we the audience know it's all real.
But this brings me to my next point: what exactly is it that the FBI does? They investigate crimes, right? Solve murders, bust up drug rings, catch bad guys, yeah? So in the episode I'm watching right now, "Space," what are Mulder and Scully doing in Houston helping NASA? The premise of the episode as I understand it is that a scientist at NASA thinks someone is sabotaging the space shuttle and asks our dynamic duo to investigate. Ok, yes, the FBI investigates things, but is this really part of their jurisdiction? I suppose NASA is a government agency, so if someone were sabotaging it, the FBI might get involved. But of course, because it's the X-Files, it's not people sabotaging the shuttle, but some kind of alien ghost. (Aliens and ghosts are kind of their thing.) But of course, the NASA scientist who enlists their help doesn't know anything about the alien ghost. Most of their cases are just unsolved mysteries that Mulder has a hunch about. So in the end, they look around a bit, have an encounter with something weird or spooky, and then what? And this brings me to my last point...
They can't arrest anybody. Alien ghosts have diplomatic immunity, and as I've already mentioned, most of the FBI thinks Mulder is crazy. (Except, of course, the part of the FBI that's involved in the huge government conspiracy.) So in the end, what do they ever achieve? And I mean this on a professional level. On a personal level, they learn things about the secrets of the universe and they help the men and women who are being haunted or abducted or whatever, but professionally, what do they have to show for it? What do their case files say? "It got kind of dicey in Houston, but everything turned out ok, and I guess we'll never know who or what sabotaged the Space Shuttle." That's all they can say, really, because I just feel like if they wrote in their report what they really think happened they would get laughed out of their jobs.
I guess the point I'm trying to make is that The X-Files, as a crime drama, leaves a bit to be desired. At the end of an episode you rarely get the satisfying "criminal brought to justice" scene that you usually expect from a police procedural. But The X-Files isn't exactly a police procedural, is it? It's an awesome, ground-breaking drama about the supernatural and one of the first mainstream long-running sci-fi shows. Plus, it's a delightful snapshot of early-90s fashion, bad acting, and pseudo-science. What's not to love about that?
As for my concerns about the FBI, I suspect that the only reason Mulder and Scully are agents at all is to give some legitimacy to what they're doing. Badges, guns, and Scully's level-headed skepticism allow them to continue doing what they do with government authorization. If they ran around as civilians investigating alien ghosts, NASA wouldn't let them in the front door. They would have no jobs, no money, and we likely would end up watching a show about a handsome hobo whom everyone believes to be a mental patient when he is, in fact, the only person who knows that the truth is out there.
And that would be a pretty depressing show to watch.
With all 437 episodes available to watch on the Internet, I have decided to watch the series from the beginning. I'm currently nine episodes in, and this show has got me thinking about a few things.
First, Mulder really comes off as a crazy person. If this show weren't predicated on the assumption that supernatural things really exist, the whole thing would be like watching one man's slow, sad descent into madness. The way he uses logic to justify his insane theories only reinforces the impression that he is some sort of high-functioning schizophrenic. It doesn't help that the very organization for which he works essentially disregards and mocks everything he does. In the first episode, we learn that the FBI has relegated him to the basement and sent Dana Scully to be his partner for the sole purpose of "debunking the X-Files." So he's an FBI agent who spends all of his time investigating aliens and ghosts, but that's ok, because we the audience know it's all real.
But this brings me to my next point: what exactly is it that the FBI does? They investigate crimes, right? Solve murders, bust up drug rings, catch bad guys, yeah? So in the episode I'm watching right now, "Space," what are Mulder and Scully doing in Houston helping NASA? The premise of the episode as I understand it is that a scientist at NASA thinks someone is sabotaging the space shuttle and asks our dynamic duo to investigate. Ok, yes, the FBI investigates things, but is this really part of their jurisdiction? I suppose NASA is a government agency, so if someone were sabotaging it, the FBI might get involved. But of course, because it's the X-Files, it's not people sabotaging the shuttle, but some kind of alien ghost. (Aliens and ghosts are kind of their thing.) But of course, the NASA scientist who enlists their help doesn't know anything about the alien ghost. Most of their cases are just unsolved mysteries that Mulder has a hunch about. So in the end, they look around a bit, have an encounter with something weird or spooky, and then what? And this brings me to my last point...
They can't arrest anybody. Alien ghosts have diplomatic immunity, and as I've already mentioned, most of the FBI thinks Mulder is crazy. (Except, of course, the part of the FBI that's involved in the huge government conspiracy.) So in the end, what do they ever achieve? And I mean this on a professional level. On a personal level, they learn things about the secrets of the universe and they help the men and women who are being haunted or abducted or whatever, but professionally, what do they have to show for it? What do their case files say? "It got kind of dicey in Houston, but everything turned out ok, and I guess we'll never know who or what sabotaged the Space Shuttle." That's all they can say, really, because I just feel like if they wrote in their report what they really think happened they would get laughed out of their jobs.
I guess the point I'm trying to make is that The X-Files, as a crime drama, leaves a bit to be desired. At the end of an episode you rarely get the satisfying "criminal brought to justice" scene that you usually expect from a police procedural. But The X-Files isn't exactly a police procedural, is it? It's an awesome, ground-breaking drama about the supernatural and one of the first mainstream long-running sci-fi shows. Plus, it's a delightful snapshot of early-90s fashion, bad acting, and pseudo-science. What's not to love about that?
As for my concerns about the FBI, I suspect that the only reason Mulder and Scully are agents at all is to give some legitimacy to what they're doing. Badges, guns, and Scully's level-headed skepticism allow them to continue doing what they do with government authorization. If they ran around as civilians investigating alien ghosts, NASA wouldn't let them in the front door. They would have no jobs, no money, and we likely would end up watching a show about a handsome hobo whom everyone believes to be a mental patient when he is, in fact, the only person who knows that the truth is out there.
And that would be a pretty depressing show to watch.
Friday, March 9, 2012
My Friday night
Drinking a beer called Rasputin while reading The Satanic Verses is probably the closest I will ever get to being a badass.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
So many, many books
I know that my blogging has not been terribly frequent over the past two months, so by way of explanation, this post is about all the books I've had to read for class during that time. Admittedly, I didn't finish every one of these texts, but it wasn't for lack of trying. So I hope, dear reader, that you will understand if I haven't been able to take a lot of time out for writing. Here's the list:
My favorite of the lot was, naturally, Beloved. I say "naturally" because this is one of three novels by Toni Morrison on which I am writing my dissertation this summer. Morrison is a genius, and you should read anything you can of hers. Beloved is haunting and sad, but so so good. This woman writes novels that are sheer poetry.
If you went to high school with me, you likely groaned at the mention of ZNH, but when I read Their Eyes Were Watching God, I was really blown away. I don't know if it's because I'm older now or if as I student of literature I just appreciate it more or what, but I really enjoyed it. I found the story really moving, and it didn't hurt that it is set mostly in central Florida, of which I am a huge fan. Throughout the book, she would mention various places and I would be all, "Hey! I've been there!" Not many of my classmates could say the same.
As for Hangover Square, that is the story of a man with split personalities, one of whom is in love with a woman and one of whom wants to kill her. It's so fun! It's actually pretty dark and tense, and this woman he's in love with, Netta, is just begging to be punched in the face, but I enjoyed it. It's worth a read.
Until next time, here's a very untimely synopsis of X-Men: The Last Stand by a kid on YouTube whom I find amusing. Cheers!
- The Sun Also Rises - Ernest Hemingway
- Invisible Man - Ralph Ellison
- As I Lay Dying - William Faulkner
- Their Eyes Were Watching God - Zora Neale Hurston
- The Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald
- The Grapes of Wrath - John Steinbeck
- The Passion of New Eve - Angela Carter
- Nights at the Circus - Angela Carter
- Serious Money - Caryl Churchill
- Money - Martin Amis
- Neuromancer - William Gibson
- Crash - J.G. Ballard
- The Heat of the Day - Elizabeth Bowen
- Hangover Square - Patrick Hamilton
- Beloved - Toni Morrison
- Feeding the Ghosts - Fred D'Aguiar
- Waiting for Godot - Samuel Beckett
- Endgame - Samuel Beckett
- Briggflatts - Basil Bunting
Yes that's 19 novels/plays/books of poetry in 8 weeks. Numbers 1 through 6 were for my Modern American Novel class. The rest were for my core Master's course, which is Literature and Modernity. Good times! I also read The Hunger Games a few weeks ago, which, admittedly, I did not have time to read, but I did anyway. So you see how I haven't had much time to compose many thoughtful blog posts. But to make this one a little more thoughtful than a mere listing of books, how's about a few recommendations?
My favorite of the lot was, naturally, Beloved. I say "naturally" because this is one of three novels by Toni Morrison on which I am writing my dissertation this summer. Morrison is a genius, and you should read anything you can of hers. Beloved is haunting and sad, but so so good. This woman writes novels that are sheer poetry.
Of the rest, I liked many, if not most of them (in fact, the only one I really can't recommend is Crash because it is downright pornographic), but I have to recommend Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston and Hangover Square by Patrick Hamilton in particular.
If you went to high school with me, you likely groaned at the mention of ZNH, but when I read Their Eyes Were Watching God, I was really blown away. I don't know if it's because I'm older now or if as I student of literature I just appreciate it more or what, but I really enjoyed it. I found the story really moving, and it didn't hurt that it is set mostly in central Florida, of which I am a huge fan. Throughout the book, she would mention various places and I would be all, "Hey! I've been there!" Not many of my classmates could say the same.
As for Hangover Square, that is the story of a man with split personalities, one of whom is in love with a woman and one of whom wants to kill her. It's so fun! It's actually pretty dark and tense, and this woman he's in love with, Netta, is just begging to be punched in the face, but I enjoyed it. It's worth a read.
I hope this has given you some food for thought, my friends. I will try to be more diligent in the future, but I've still got seven more books, two 4000-word essays, and a 1000-word dissertation proposal to finish between now and August 12, so no promises. But I will do my best.
Until next time, here's a very untimely synopsis of X-Men: The Last Stand by a kid on YouTube whom I find amusing. Cheers!
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