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Weekly source of voyeuristic entertainment: postsecret .
The sun is back after a good couple of weeks AWOL, just on the day I need to write this essay. I get scared when it's a nice day that it might be the last one in a while, and so I have to be outside on such a day. What if today's my only chance to work on my tan before December? And so I'm trying to write it on the deck, on the laptop. As you may well guess, I've not got very far at all. Livejournal is practically my diary of procrastination. The other thing about today is that it's Thursday, which means a hefty sum arrived overnight in my bank account, all ready for me to spend at online CD stores.
The best thing about my internet shopping addiction is when parcels arrive. It's always exciting, even when I know exactly what's in them. This week, I can look forward to Interpol and The Strokes.
Last week I ordered the John Safran vs God DVD, and watched the entire series in two days. John Safran, apparently, is to religious studies what Zach Braff is to medical students - he really doesn't know what anything about the subject at all, but he's very funny. I got sick of everyone talking about him in class when I can't get the right channel, so I had to buy the series out of curiosity. I watched The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou with Abe and Mum the other day, too - I loved it and they hated it.
It's an indication of just how fucking exciting my life is that I'm writing about music and movies. Perhaps I should go that one step further and talk about books...
Annamarie Jagose's Slow Water: slow and incredibly boring, but with enough man-on-man sex to keep me reading...
Jhumpa Lahiri's The Namesake: interesting, she's a fabulous writer, but I can imagine my mum reading this at her book club, a thought which puts me off anything.
Elliot Perlman's Seven Types of Ambiguity: the thickness of this book and it's title mean I look really intelligent and deep reading it, but secretly it's just a thriller. It's got seven narrators, but all of them have the exact same voice, which creeps me out. It's inspired me to read Empson, though, and it's the best Australian book I've read.
Next up is Zadie Smith's The Autograph Man, which looks like a standard airport novel. Apparently it's good, though.
I still haven't decided which one to write my essay on, and I want to hand it in tomorrow.
One more week till the end of term. I can't wait! Four months off, with only three days of work a week. It's going to be bliss. My one exam is in November, which gives me heaps of time to study. Feeling good. Maybe I'll do extra shifts so I can get rich in time for Christmas shopping.