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And what was Abulafia, with its secret files?
The box that held everything Belbo knew, or thought he knew.
Created on 2005-01-14 06:47:52 (#5763916), last updated 2009-07-17
516 comments received, 3,825 comments posted
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| Name: | R. |
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(1) My step-brother has invited his friends over -- our parents are away, my apartment is being fumigated -- and they've overtaken the house with their booze and their women and their marijuana and their nail polish and the music is loud and constant and they play it throughout the night and someone just intoxicatedly sang a snatch of "Here I Dreamt I Was an Architect" and, and -- this is the polysyndeton of my discontent! This is not an environment or a rhetorical mode conducive to writing about staid-ass Graham Greene's tiresomely sentimental Christian metaphor! (I ventriloquize my earlier resentment of Graham Greene.)
(2) I went to Pier 1, today, and then to Bed, Bath and Beyond, because it was next-door. I spent about an hour and a half in the latter, an hour and a half during which my self-conception was challenged, or, perhaps, expanded. If the evidence of this trip is to be believed, I am the sort of person who cares what her glassware looks like, who spends twenty minutes weighing the virtues of various stoneware sets without coming to a conclusion, and who is capable of being seduced, however fleetingly, by useless kitchen things with small fastidious-looking chefs painted on. I console myself: at least I don't know what it is that the useless kitchen things purportedly do.
(3) I'm not really a noncognitivist, but I used to be, and I still like the word. "Noncognitivist." Words that I don't like include "pomo" (precious), "erotica" (pretentious) and various shoddily constructed neologisms, like "feminazi."
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