I've just reread my Hum paper on Niobe.
If only I had taken Hum 110 with Robert Knapp for my entire Reed
career, I think my writing would be better. Maybe I'll put it up on
the blog so I won't ever lose it. That's how this works, right?
I think my favorite reason for blogging
is that if I found this blog, as a random stranger, I would enjoy it.
There are other reasons, of course: exhibitionism and nostalgia
chiefly among them. This feeling of youth and invulnerability sure
doesn't help either. I should probably look up the dangers of
admitting to lawlessness on the internet. This Ubuntu word processor
want to either capitalize the I of internet, or write the whole word
in capital letters. How strange.
My last few posts have been a little
gloomy, I know. I just post whatever I wrote in the order I wrote it
in. Sometimes it seems a little silly to say “I am sad” on
Monday, when in fact I was sad on Friday night and Monday is cheerful
and bright. But I am a sucker for completeness and I think that's
more important than temporal accuracy.
This Friday night was not a sad one. A
work-buddy invited me to the Siestes Electroniques, which should be
starting up again in an hour or two. It turns out that he didn't know
what time they were at, because at 10:30 the park was locked and the
show was over. We sat in an asphalt park for a while, drinking his
cheap beer, and it was there that I found out that he had absolutely
no social anxiety. I have never met such a person before. He's a
little wacky, but pretty fun.
In a fit of boundless extroversion, he
called a guy he'd met in his building and invited himself to hang out
with Pierrot's group. We walked over to La Daurade, where they were
sitting on a large map of the city. The conversations were not
particularly memorable, but at one point we all got up and learned
Indian dance moves from work-buddy and his friend. That was pretty
great.
After a disagreement with a large
Algerian man over whether or not he was entitled to a puff of a
cigarette, we left the park to avoid a fight. We ended up at another,
rather sinister park, where we stayed until 3 in the morning,
discussing cinema and the allegory of the cave. They were nice
semi-crusty semi-punky people, and we got on pretty well.
The boything was home to check on his
grandmother and visit his family.
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