Miminality

Nerdjoys are:

– Doctor Who Season 4. Boy, is David Tennant (first encountered in a Harry Potter film, eugh; Harry Potter has scarred our lives for eternity and a day) the cutest Doctor ever.

– Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars.

– Faerie Queene (*sigh* No, really).

– Being paid to travel and present a paper. (Now if only we could finish writing the paper! Now if only we could start writing the paper.)

– Jolchhara coffee with cigarette and Hide and Seek biscuits in the morning, along with interesting conversation. (This makes me suddenly miss A, who I know is always on campus but the last time we chatted was more than a week ago. I must look him up more often, hmm.)

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I sat among the unwashed piles of dishes with the cat and finished the remnants of my dinner and felt very free.

A Song for September

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Sit and watch, sit and watch
Till it comes for you: a tiny tune
With a tilted hat and sad moustache
And crimson heart hastily sewn
Upon the sleeve. Do receive
Its clumsy fingers in your own;
Lend it a small rhyme to weave
Dancing rain in autumn-blown
Branches, pavements, cloudy streets;
Rise and take it by the hand,
Twirl it round to the beat
And play it with a marching band.

—

Which is to say, I should be studying. I know, I know. =(

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Studying implies five solid nighttime hours of Foucault, or maybe A Room of One’s Own, Carlyle’s crappy tract or Being and Time, which one hopes is not as depressing as that. The term may also be extended to include literary texts one would not be inclined to peruse if they weren’t on syllabus, Bleak House being the prime specimen in this category.

NOT, as it were, hours spent reading I Shall Wear Midnight. (It’s not even such a great book, honestly. Bit of a nostalgic trip. PTerry these days seems to only aim to keep up with his old work. The repetitions in plot and pattern are nearly deliberate and have a comforting quality to them, almost: you know what to expect from a Discworld book, and Pratchett faithfully delivers it. But the last time he made us gasp a little at something utterly brilliant and unexpected was Going Postal. We feel almost threatened at the prospect of the upcoming Moist von Lipwig book: with each book we like him a little less, and we had been so mindblown by Moist when he had first arrived, by god.)

Anyway, the point of this post is to not be a book review, even surreptitiously behind the excuse of parentheses. This summarises our affinity for studying quite succinctly, however.