A few weeks ago my sister informed me that Surfer Blood had released a new album, so I picked it up...after giving it a listen and ruminating on what else my pod plays most often, I came to the realization that as I go gently into that good night the music accompanying me will be the sort that wood nymphs dance to at their whimsical tea party raves.
At this very moment Tycho is playing, and yes, it's pretty much true to form.
I like this sign. If memory serves me right, it outlines some proposed new development in and around the dog walking park. It's not going over well. I was there the other day, fairly early in the morning, alone--except for the intrepid Mr. P., of course. 'Twas great. Any proposed development will fuck it up...but what cans you do with a growing potashopolis?
Deja vu Monday night. Finally a bit of snow on the ground. Anyway, I stayed away from the library this evening and settled like snow into the basement flat...just like January and February and--. This term is almost over. I've given up (no I haven't) exclaiming over the quickness of time; even I'm getting sick of this particular cliche...but anyway, the term is almost over and I'm not in panic mode. I'm up on my work and there's only two weeks to go. Mind boggling.
Read some phantastic books this fall, some for school some for me...Supergods by Grant Morrison was great--but I've got a mancrush on him, so I cannot offer any salient criticism on anything he does. I finally read some Tomson Highway, Kiss of the Fur Queen to be exact, in a CanLit class, and loved it. For years I've had a completely nonsensical prejudice against Canadian literature, and the U of S english department has steadily eroded that inclination. Don't know where it started to be honest, probably around the same time I humbly thought I was the next incarnation of Henry Miller and Kerouac. Wack.
Frustrating it may be, but happy to be regularly handing in writing to marked/critiqued. I always think everything I do is fine--indeed, that what flows from my keyboard is SOMETHING for EVERYONE. And you better not change a damn thing PROF. Today I had to do a rewrite on a short assignment, and I must admit that when I saw it in my inbox my temperature rose a degree or two. She was write, of course.
University has been a joy this fall. Some stress early on, but I do feel blessed to be there and going to class. Listening to the profs and fellow students has been a gift--that I'm paying for--nevertheless, there's a hell of a lot of people in this world who cannot do what I'm doing through no fault of their own. And the people who could do these humanities studies are, quite rightly, studying subjects and trades far more practical. Hard to say what the real worth of this sort of education is these days--I know what it means to me--some sort of grad studies and academic/intellectual work down the road (maybe?--I'm past the point of being 100% sure of anything, anymore). Therein lies the rub--I need to formulate a plan and an area of study over the next year--time to narrow the focus.
What would Magnum P.I. do?
The bridge city has been holding its own.
Won't see this for a few months now...
...there will, however, be frosty mornings, hazy pink skies, chugging trucks and cars, and the quick cold snap of an essay deadline.
At this very moment Tycho is playing, and yes, it's pretty much true to form. 
I like this sign. If memory serves me right, it outlines some proposed new development in and around the dog walking park. It's not going over well. I was there the other day, fairly early in the morning, alone--except for the intrepid Mr. P., of course. 'Twas great. Any proposed development will fuck it up...but what cans you do with a growing potashopolis?
Deja vu Monday night. Finally a bit of snow on the ground. Anyway, I stayed away from the library this evening and settled like snow into the basement flat...just like January and February and--. This term is almost over. I've given up (no I haven't) exclaiming over the quickness of time; even I'm getting sick of this particular cliche...but anyway, the term is almost over and I'm not in panic mode. I'm up on my work and there's only two weeks to go. Mind boggling. 
Read some phantastic books this fall, some for school some for me...Supergods by Grant Morrison was great--but I've got a mancrush on him, so I cannot offer any salient criticism on anything he does. I finally read some Tomson Highway, Kiss of the Fur Queen to be exact, in a CanLit class, and loved it. For years I've had a completely nonsensical prejudice against Canadian literature, and the U of S english department has steadily eroded that inclination. Don't know where it started to be honest, probably around the same time I humbly thought I was the next incarnation of Henry Miller and Kerouac. Wack.
Frustrating it may be, but happy to be regularly handing in writing to marked/critiqued. I always think everything I do is fine--indeed, that what flows from my keyboard is SOMETHING for EVERYONE. And you better not change a damn thing PROF. Today I had to do a rewrite on a short assignment, and I must admit that when I saw it in my inbox my temperature rose a degree or two. She was write, of course.
University has been a joy this fall. Some stress early on, but I do feel blessed to be there and going to class. Listening to the profs and fellow students has been a gift--that I'm paying for--nevertheless, there's a hell of a lot of people in this world who cannot do what I'm doing through no fault of their own. And the people who could do these humanities studies are, quite rightly, studying subjects and trades far more practical. Hard to say what the real worth of this sort of education is these days--I know what it means to me--some sort of grad studies and academic/intellectual work down the road (maybe?--I'm past the point of being 100% sure of anything, anymore). Therein lies the rub--I need to formulate a plan and an area of study over the next year--time to narrow the focus. 
What would Magnum P.I. do?
The bridge city has been holding its own. 
Won't see this for a few months now...
...there will, however, be frosty mornings, hazy pink skies, chugging trucks and cars, and the quick cold snap of an essay deadline.
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