the point is probably moot
I've pulled an Ernest Hemingway for the past ten days. By Hemingway, I mean the mid-life version who smoked cigars and drank whiskey at tiki bars, challenged groups of husky drunken men to fistfights, and swooned naive young women with stories of love and grandeur. It's too bad I'm unable to be like the later-years Hemingway and possess any sort of writing skills. I'd imagine that would make for a greater experience, if at the very least a fortune saved on bar tabs.
But it hasn't been all that unproductive for me lately. I've handled some occasional business and have been fairly active in setting future plans. I landed another job, as webmaster of a local nonprofit, and am fixing to get back in the recording studio with another band. I'm also taking it upon myself to learn the harmonica (which, if it goes well, may result in a stand-up routine of some kind).
Today I skipped my music class to watch youtube videos of Monty Python. I showed up to metaphysics in the afternoon and afterwards had a conversation with the professor about why we ought reject modal-semantical interpretations of essentialism. He told me I should take the graduate seminar on identity that hes teaching in the fall, and that I should seriously consider grad school. I laughed at him, making it clear that I want none of that shit.
I then walked through the oval, smoking my corncob pipe and enjoying the sudden bloom of spring that's arrived here in the past week. I sit on the steps of the geography building and am approached by a friend from one of my philosophy classes. He tells me of a Saul Kripke conference that the philosophy department is to host this weekend and invites me to walk with him to register. As we head over, we discuss our plans for the future. He's such a loud-mouthed, arrogant, cocky individual- so it's no surprise why I see so much of myself in him. He expresses his hopes for getting into Stanford Law. I would be surprised if he didn't.
I come home and am invited to dinner with a friend. We recall the weekend's affairs and laugh about all that has been. We make bean tacos, which admitedly aren't the most satisfying form of mexican food. But, since I've been vegetarian (going on a month and a half now I've been at it), I'm more or less willing to make similar concessions. I've heard that having too many vices makes one a vicious person. So in the name of virtue (not pig fever, environmentalism, animal rights, or any similar block of reasoning) I abstain from meat, and have done so for almost 40 days now.
On similar thoughts of self-improvement, I'm about ready to resume my boxing regimen. Four weeks ago I fractured my knuckles from hitting the heavy bag incorrectly. Being the dumbass that I am, I continued practicing for a week after, which only opened up the cuts and got them infected. Not that such has detered me from standing up for myself in the face of a punk or a gunman, but it's definitely kept me out of the gym for much longer than I would have prefered.
I'm sitting here singing songs of unrequited love. I've got a paper on Jacques Derrida due tomorrow, and I figure it makes sense to delay it as much as possible. I'll likely end up playing Jessie's Girl a dozen or so times before I even figure out where to begin.
But it hasn't been all that unproductive for me lately. I've handled some occasional business and have been fairly active in setting future plans. I landed another job, as webmaster of a local nonprofit, and am fixing to get back in the recording studio with another band. I'm also taking it upon myself to learn the harmonica (which, if it goes well, may result in a stand-up routine of some kind).
Today I skipped my music class to watch youtube videos of Monty Python. I showed up to metaphysics in the afternoon and afterwards had a conversation with the professor about why we ought reject modal-semantical interpretations of essentialism. He told me I should take the graduate seminar on identity that hes teaching in the fall, and that I should seriously consider grad school. I laughed at him, making it clear that I want none of that shit.
I then walked through the oval, smoking my corncob pipe and enjoying the sudden bloom of spring that's arrived here in the past week. I sit on the steps of the geography building and am approached by a friend from one of my philosophy classes. He tells me of a Saul Kripke conference that the philosophy department is to host this weekend and invites me to walk with him to register. As we head over, we discuss our plans for the future. He's such a loud-mouthed, arrogant, cocky individual- so it's no surprise why I see so much of myself in him. He expresses his hopes for getting into Stanford Law. I would be surprised if he didn't.
I come home and am invited to dinner with a friend. We recall the weekend's affairs and laugh about all that has been. We make bean tacos, which admitedly aren't the most satisfying form of mexican food. But, since I've been vegetarian (going on a month and a half now I've been at it), I'm more or less willing to make similar concessions. I've heard that having too many vices makes one a vicious person. So in the name of virtue (not pig fever, environmentalism, animal rights, or any similar block of reasoning) I abstain from meat, and have done so for almost 40 days now.
On similar thoughts of self-improvement, I'm about ready to resume my boxing regimen. Four weeks ago I fractured my knuckles from hitting the heavy bag incorrectly. Being the dumbass that I am, I continued practicing for a week after, which only opened up the cuts and got them infected. Not that such has detered me from standing up for myself in the face of a punk or a gunman, but it's definitely kept me out of the gym for much longer than I would have prefered.
I'm sitting here singing songs of unrequited love. I've got a paper on Jacques Derrida due tomorrow, and I figure it makes sense to delay it as much as possible. I'll likely end up playing Jessie's Girl a dozen or so times before I even figure out where to begin.