According to Lesley, to say “…the Sowetan has been recovering from a lengthy crisis of semi-erection; hovering between the la-di-da of respectability and the economic imperatives of crass commercialism…” is not academic, and even though she thought it was amusing, I have the opportunity to better my ways.
I knew of course, that this would be the response to what I thought was a particularly witty observation. Essays on Jane Austin’s entire oeuvre and Shakespeare’s Richard II (I can still not figure out why the hell I got to write two essays on Richard II) and The Tempest elicited a similar reaction. Then I was quite floored. Now… it is great that, as one gets older, one can quite easily accept that although one is unspeakably smart, there is a lot of shit one does not know, and that other smart people may even disagree with inventive opinions one may hold on the basis of shit one does know. Still, it was my first attempt at academic writing since pa fell off the bus, and I thought I could test the waters.
And so on.
Questions to be answered in future:
1. I don’t understand why the fucking Woody Allen festival should be AFTER the fucking 8pm movie on a Sunday. Does fucking e-tv not understand that 10pm is too LATE for Woody Allen fans? We are OLD now, and we have to fucking work on Monday. More than this, one cannot fucking tape/PVR the film and watch it at some other time because there are other things, equally important to watch, like 30 Rock on a Monday. I’m not even going to go to that place where people have a dish. I have not had a single afternoon/evening to sit through five episodes of ANY of my five favourite series and I don’t even have a real job. My mother calls me and tells me to watch Oprah in the afternoon, and I just don’t have the time. PLEASE! When you hit the couch, THAT is the moment in which you have to engage. Putting it off is like getting an extension on an essay. Things pile up like old copies of magazines and newspapers. Why why why?
2. Is it possible that the continual, if vague, desire I have to find a guy with whom I could have an extended monogamous love-relationship with, is similar to the one my friend Katrien had when she bought a gun. In her mind, the gun would have been useful. She imagined that a robber would come, she would shoot him in the knees, he would fall in the pond (I don’t remember her having a pond) and then the police would come and take him away. Realising the absurdity of the fantasy, she took the gun back to the shop. Can one recycle a man in the same way? Or would one have to do more penance than a simple, “sorry, I thought I was in love, but it turned out to be an middle-ear infection?”
3. What is wrong with Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt?
4. Is it OK to point out to etiolated vegans that they should either do something about their diet or stay the hell away from the rest of us?
I think that’s enough for the middle of April. I just realised that, although I thought of her all day, I did not actually call Ruby for her birthday, and she would be asleep for two hours already.