last night...
the fiddle player says to me "you have derrida on your arm!"
i want to say something like "yes, and i have a sketch of foucault's panopticon tattooed on my ass" -- but i am not that cool.
instead, i bask in the simple joy of the moment before taking another bite out of my fried pickle (do not knock it until you have tried it) and quizzing him about his encounters with continental thought.
i should have made him define differance... that could be a pretty cool addition to the pamphlet's appendix.
god. why am i not in grad school?
i want to say something like "yes, and i have a sketch of foucault's panopticon tattooed on my ass" -- but i am not that cool.
instead, i bask in the simple joy of the moment before taking another bite out of my fried pickle (do not knock it until you have tried it) and quizzing him about his encounters with continental thought.
i should have made him define differance... that could be a pretty cool addition to the pamphlet's appendix.
god. why am i not in grad school?
i LOVE fried pickles. Something tells me they're going to be harder to come by in California.
why AREN'T you in grad school?
You totally should have made the comment about the tattoo on your ass. But then, he might've asked to see it.
Posted by
some chick |
8:51 AM