Thursday, June 01, 2006
Nothing to say.
I find that most days I have nothing worth saying. In part because I spend my day wrestling with esoteric archival stuff or reading (and also watching) intellectual junk food. I confess that I am finding myself watching Oprah during the kids naptime, that I have been thumbing through old copies of Parent magazine, and that I even watched a whole episode of "So You Think You Can Dance?" My academic enterprise finds me giddy every time a mention of prophecy, city of refuge, cain, or total depravity is mentioned in the American Journal of Insanity (1844-1860). But, I can't yet explain the significance of my reading. No wonder I have nothing to say. I have been reading the NY Times. However, I find my self attracted to pop psychology, movie reviews and articles on Garrison Keillor and the Dixie Chicks. Perhaps, I have unknowingly suffered a head injury. This also might explain my preference of Yahtzee over Scrabble, for Agatha Christie over W. Somerset Maugham, and Coke over Coffee, and the worst confession of all: I actually know the name of Brad and Angelina's baby.
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2 comments:
I tried to make a rule that I wouldn't read about the celebrities on magazine covers while standing in the grocery line. It hasn't worked.
I know how you feel.
Sarah
If you're stuck on Agatha Christie you might want to try Dorothy Sayers instead. That way you can say you're reading one of the Inklings--and she really is a bit more oomphy and thoughtful without being annoying about it when you just want to read a mystery. The Dante Club by Matthew Pearl is also a good mystery choice for someone who's interested in total depravity--a series of murders based on Dante's Inferno certainly qualifies. :)
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