Under some dirty words on a dirty wall
I like to annoy the guy who lives next to me by blasting Ben Folds albums in the middle of the night.
This has nothing to do with my personal happiness, I swear.
I spent almost eight hours in various computer labs trying to resolve the kerning on the headline "Teddy Teacher Faces Sudan Courts" on the front page of my London newspaper. Admittedly, it looks great. However, this is a supposedly interesting story that I never want to think about again. Tomorrow, I'm hopefully doing a page about missing canoeman fraud, emulating Page 3 of the Sun, and doing critic's picks a la Time Out. I feel a little awkward about the prospect of sitting in Founders and editing a picture of a topless girl. At least I won't be masturbating, which is more than I can say for some people in Founders. Ew. Ew. Ew.
After this weekend, life will be so unbelievably easy.
Except for sitting through my Arts, Culture and Criticism class, which is simply beyond the realms of my belief. I sit there thinking, "Is this happening? Is it a ghoulish dream?" That is not hyperbole. Buzzword count - Juxtapose: 2. Dichotomy: 1. Metatextual: 3. Agency: 0 (but there's still time.) By comparison, the count for Shakespeare: Histories and Comedies (not counting Matt and me)- Dichotomy: 1, Agency: 1. And those were both the professor. And I have that class twice as often. And the concept of trash culture is not bandied about like a volleyball at a Parkinson's Disease fundraising picnic.
Superbad is a comedy. It is not camp. IT IS NOT.
Also, I kind of want to smash my Holga against a sharp rock. But that's to be expected.
I must stop underestimating "Late"'s ability to make me weep like an infected blister. It may be the greatest song.
This has nothing to do with my personal happiness, I swear.
I spent almost eight hours in various computer labs trying to resolve the kerning on the headline "Teddy Teacher Faces Sudan Courts" on the front page of my London newspaper. Admittedly, it looks great. However, this is a supposedly interesting story that I never want to think about again. Tomorrow, I'm hopefully doing a page about missing canoeman fraud, emulating Page 3 of the Sun, and doing critic's picks a la Time Out. I feel a little awkward about the prospect of sitting in Founders and editing a picture of a topless girl. At least I won't be masturbating, which is more than I can say for some people in Founders. Ew. Ew. Ew.
After this weekend, life will be so unbelievably easy.
Except for sitting through my Arts, Culture and Criticism class, which is simply beyond the realms of my belief. I sit there thinking, "Is this happening? Is it a ghoulish dream?" That is not hyperbole. Buzzword count - Juxtapose: 2. Dichotomy: 1. Metatextual: 3. Agency: 0 (but there's still time.) By comparison, the count for Shakespeare: Histories and Comedies (not counting Matt and me)- Dichotomy: 1, Agency: 1. And those were both the professor. And I have that class twice as often. And the concept of trash culture is not bandied about like a volleyball at a Parkinson's Disease fundraising picnic.
Superbad is a comedy. It is not camp. IT IS NOT.
Also, I kind of want to smash my Holga against a sharp rock. But that's to be expected.
I must stop underestimating "Late"'s ability to make me weep like an infected blister. It may be the greatest song.