(no subject)
I knew if I stuck it out, if I kept my nose clean, and if I did the right thing I would eventually prevail. I was walking home from student health in the extreme humidity and gloominess with a heavy backpack thinking how much easier it would be if I still had my bike. I had talked to my grandmother the night before because I had been emailed by Frau Maczek about my scholarship and told my mom who told her and she was like "JA MEINE ELISE!" so I felt guilty that I didn't tell her it had been lost. She sounded so thrilled that I was finally going to Germany.
So anyway, walking home. Decide to take a shortcut in front of Harkness, the most notorious filthy naked hippy co-op on campus. I was looking at the bike rack (still not having given up hope) and saw my bike. With the same plastic bag tied in a bow on the handlebar. I think, oh, it's a trick of the eye, she's gone. But no! I had to see. It had the same seat for fat asses, same rusty kickstand, and the same fucking lock. I tested the combo and it was it. So I guess my negligence to fully scramble the combination bit me in the ass. Nevertheless, I rode that baby all the way back to German house.
I considered posting to gloat on Ocon, but that's not very nice, and I hope the thief learns a lesson about taking what's not theirs.
That put me in a good mood for the rest of the day. We talked about van Gogh in 19th c art, and I was sort of disappointed, because he was nothing like what I imagined. He was not crazy, his crazy actions were the manifestations of some sort of epilepsy. By the time the attacks started happening he had already developed his style. Our professor was talking about how he really, really liked Japan and saw it as some kind of utopian paradise, and him and Gauguin would write letters to each other about how they were totally gonna buy this yellow house in Arles and live like Japanese monks but really be artists and it would be soooo cool. They painted self portraits for each other, where van Gogh made himself look like a Japanese monk:
and Gauguin fashioned himself some kind of roguish Jean Valjean figure.
(notice the 'les miserables' in the corner)
So with all this in mind and tired of staring at the professor's hands (v. nice) I imagined van Gogh as Dunderhead, the silly ginger nerd kid from high school, twitching on the floor and slicing off his ear, but still with that shit-eating grin on his face.
And the last bit of art history for right now:
Reading about some stuff in the Aachen cathedral for Longinus, I noticed they kept mentioning Stephaton, who is the sponge guy who played a nasty trick on crucified Jesus (he gives him vinegar). I freaked out and wondered how I could be so negligent as to ignore the frequent visual counterpart of my beloved Longinus. So I guess I have to look in to that now. I keep getting distracted in the library because I will be reading an article and then see a reference to something else and want to read that so I start reading that and think I should get back to work.
SOOOO soon to being over!
So anyway, walking home. Decide to take a shortcut in front of Harkness, the most notorious filthy naked hippy co-op on campus. I was looking at the bike rack (still not having given up hope) and saw my bike. With the same plastic bag tied in a bow on the handlebar. I think, oh, it's a trick of the eye, she's gone. But no! I had to see. It had the same seat for fat asses, same rusty kickstand, and the same fucking lock. I tested the combo and it was it. So I guess my negligence to fully scramble the combination bit me in the ass. Nevertheless, I rode that baby all the way back to German house.
I considered posting to gloat on Ocon, but that's not very nice, and I hope the thief learns a lesson about taking what's not theirs.
That put me in a good mood for the rest of the day. We talked about van Gogh in 19th c art, and I was sort of disappointed, because he was nothing like what I imagined. He was not crazy, his crazy actions were the manifestations of some sort of epilepsy. By the time the attacks started happening he had already developed his style. Our professor was talking about how he really, really liked Japan and saw it as some kind of utopian paradise, and him and Gauguin would write letters to each other about how they were totally gonna buy this yellow house in Arles and live like Japanese monks but really be artists and it would be soooo cool. They painted self portraits for each other, where van Gogh made himself look like a Japanese monk:
and Gauguin fashioned himself some kind of roguish Jean Valjean figure.
(notice the 'les miserables' in the corner)
So with all this in mind and tired of staring at the professor's hands (v. nice) I imagined van Gogh as Dunderhead, the silly ginger nerd kid from high school, twitching on the floor and slicing off his ear, but still with that shit-eating grin on his face.
And the last bit of art history for right now:
Reading about some stuff in the Aachen cathedral for Longinus, I noticed they kept mentioning Stephaton, who is the sponge guy who played a nasty trick on crucified Jesus (he gives him vinegar). I freaked out and wondered how I could be so negligent as to ignore the frequent visual counterpart of my beloved Longinus. So I guess I have to look in to that now. I keep getting distracted in the library because I will be reading an article and then see a reference to something else and want to read that so I start reading that and think I should get back to work.
SOOOO soon to being over!