Apparently I'm feeling emphatic today.

1. HOLY CRAP WE HAVE REAL INTERNET! After seven months of subsisting on dialup (don't ask), this is approximately the most exciting thing ever.

2. HOLY CRAP I HAVE A TON OF WORK TO DO! Ten minute Powerpoint presentation on the Children's Internet Protection Act and ten page paper on Jerry Spinelli, both due Thursday = ouch.

3. HOLY CRAP I REALLY REALLY WANT TO SEE THIS SHOW! Jon Stewart, Sarah Vowell, Dave Eggers and Sufjan Stevens all in one room?! Swoon. Too bad tickets are a goddamn fortune. Really, for a lineup like that I may have to suck it up and go anyway.

4. HOLY CRAP I AM TIRED FOR NO REASON! As soon as I get the skeleton of this Powerpoint presentation sketched out, I am going the hell to bed. I have a looooong day of writing ahead tomorrow.

P.S. The Decemberists are coming to town on November 3rd, yay! Who wants to come with me? Tickets are $30.50. (Ouch. I remember when tickets to their shows were under $15. Stupid getting all famous and signed to a major label and shit. My indie cred could care less, but my wallet is Not Pleased.)

What I'm reading right now

Somewhere in the locked away letters, Ash had referred to the plot or fate which seemed to hold or drive the dead lovers. Roland thought, partly with precise postmodernist pleasure, and partly with a real element of superstitious dread, that he and Maud were being driven by a plot or fate that seemed, at least possibly, to be not their plot or fate but those of others. And it is probable that there is an element of superstitious dread in any self-referring, self-reflexive, inturned postmodernist mirror-game or plot-coil that recognizes that it has got out of hand, that connections proliferate apparently at random, that is to say, with equal verisimilitude, apparently in response to some ferocious ordering principle, not controlled by conscious intention, which would, of course, being a good postmodernist intention, require the aleatory or the multivalent or the 'free', but structuring, but controlling, but driving, to some--to what?--end. Coherence and closure are deep human desires that are presently unfashionable. But they are always both frightening and enchantingly desirable. 'Falling in love', characteristically, combs the appearances of the world, and of the particular lover's history, out of a random tangle and into a coherent plot. Roland was troubled by the idea that the opposite might be true. Finding themselves in a plot, they might suppose it appropriate to behave as though it were that sort of plot. And that would be to compromise some kind of integrity they had set out with.
--A.S. Byatt, Possession