I'm doing the pretentious study-in-the-grad-lounge thing at the moment. After being here just over an hour, I've already heard the same Death Cab song twice. I just hoovered a moderately tasteless burger and will soon dive into some Michael Gaudio and Martin Heidegger essays. Sigh.
If you don't pity me already, let me give you a short sample of what I'm currently "reading":
Yes, its all a bunch of wordy tripe about thingly things that are thing-ing all over the place. I signed up for the course thinking art is fun, not knowing I would soon be ambushed by a myriad of old-timer "artists" waxing philisophical about the nature of matter and human existence?"What in the thing is thingly? What is the thing in itself? We shall not reach the thing in itself until our thinking has first reached the thing as a thing," (Heidegger 1975, from, you guessed it, "The Thing")
I pretty much want to shoot myself.
On the plus side, Tony has an art show coming up in February at a dimly lit hipster bar/restaurant on Main Street. Our apartment is thus exploding with creativity manifested in drippy urban landscapes. He only lets me watch him painting if I'm doing something productive (ie reading, or more preferably, practicing provocative yoga stretches).
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