It's a big day for the literary theory nerd in me!
First, what I will be reading tonight at work, assuming it is quiet:
A blog entry with lots of links about a NYT Poet Editor v. New Yorker Poetry Editor SMACKDOWN!TM. Again, my New Yorker subscription runs out and then there's something I want to read! Be warned, there's annoying parts of this blog, including their obsession with the phrase 'kimono-opening', but the links are handy.
I missed that last week Jean Baudrillard died. My very first residency in grad school included a lecture on 'hyperreality' and how it relates to fiction writing and the differences and similarities. But also being a writer in the midst of a period of time defined by the idea of hyperreality. So anyway, RIP Jean. Here's to the authentic fake.
I didn't make it out to the coffee shop. I decided instead to go for a run and then came home and raked up some of the trash in the yard that had been collecting for months and hiding under snow. During this task, I discovered little pokes of green coming up in parts of the flowerbeds, from bulbs planted in the fall. Hope springs eternal, as they say.
I'm pleased to say that no one fat-harassed me this time. Then again, it was 11 am on a Wednesday so there were fewer people out. And I was wearing headphones the whole time. Perhaps I've been constantly fat-harassed in the past but never heard it because of my music. Does that mean it really happened, if the victim never hears the insult? No, I suppose it just means that the person yelling is the only one partaking of the poison.
A blog entry with lots of links about a NYT Poet Editor v. New Yorker Poetry Editor SMACKDOWN!TM. Again, my New Yorker subscription runs out and then there's something I want to read! Be warned, there's annoying parts of this blog, including their obsession with the phrase 'kimono-opening', but the links are handy.
I missed that last week Jean Baudrillard died. My very first residency in grad school included a lecture on 'hyperreality' and how it relates to fiction writing and the differences and similarities. But also being a writer in the midst of a period of time defined by the idea of hyperreality. So anyway, RIP Jean. Here's to the authentic fake.
I didn't make it out to the coffee shop. I decided instead to go for a run and then came home and raked up some of the trash in the yard that had been collecting for months and hiding under snow. During this task, I discovered little pokes of green coming up in parts of the flowerbeds, from bulbs planted in the fall. Hope springs eternal, as they say.
I'm pleased to say that no one fat-harassed me this time. Then again, it was 11 am on a Wednesday so there were fewer people out. And I was wearing headphones the whole time. Perhaps I've been constantly fat-harassed in the past but never heard it because of my music. Does that mean it really happened, if the victim never hears the insult? No, I suppose it just means that the person yelling is the only one partaking of the poison.