Forgive my delay, dear comrades, as I have been busy keeping tabs on the caterpillar-faced man-boy. I must keep him in my sight at all times for fear that he may be secretly plotting (with the help of “cat”) my ultimate demise. I’ll explain further in yesterday’s notes.
Day 2 in captivity:
0900: The human man is disturbed from his undoubtedly nefarious slumber by my barking. I’ll use my obviously undeniable cuteness to lure him into taking me for a run.
0930: Phase 1 of immobilizing the human and licking him into submission is successful. After convincing him (through some canine-telepathy) to go for a run and “get in a shape,” I led the human over a slanted piece of sidewalk and nearly broke his ankle. Man-boy may only be exactly as smart as he looks.
1100: Phase 1 has backfired. Man-boy took almost two hours to hobble back to his base after uttering countless expletives. This, however, should keep him from corroborating with “cat” in their sinister arrangements.
1230: The human aggressor has taken siesta on his living couch. I was able, through my extensive training, to steal his mobile social media machine and provide proof of my assault. See figure 1:
1400: It is pretty evident to me now that my captor aims to eat me, as I have learned he is of “oriental” descent.
1600: Suspicions confirmed: Though I have managed to resist eating solid foods, the human continues to feed me peanut butter. He is surely fattening me for the slaughter.
All for now. I fear the remainder of what life I have left will be spent in a 5-foot radius of this furry-faced tyrant. It saddens me to the depth of my being that I will never see my owner again, but it has been 3 full days with no sign of her. I am all but convinced that she has abandoned me.
"This dog’s days are over." - Florence, the Machine
Language, a great poem in and of itself, is all around us. We live in the lap of enormous wonder, but how rarely do most of us look up and smile in gratitude and pleasure? The English major does that all the time.
Love for language, hunger for life, openness and a quest for truth: Those are the qualities of my English major in the ideal form. But of course now we’re talking about more than a mere academic major. We’re talking about a way of life. We’re talking about a way of living that places inquiry into how to live in the world—what to be, how to act, how to move through time—at its center. What we’re talking about is a path to becoming a human being, or at least a better sort of human being than one was at the start. An English major? To me an English major is someone who has decided, against all kinds of pious, prudent advice and all kinds of fears and resistances, to major, quite simply, in becoming a person.
Superb meditation on the ideal English major by Mark Edmundson. By this measure, Tolstoy would’ve been the epitome of the ideal.
Pair with philosopher Judith Butler’s fantastic commencement address on the value of reading and the humanities.
(Source: , via explore-blog)
As far as the kids know, I am an endless bank of incredible knowledge. Most of that shit I make up on the fly. But when the occasion arises that I do not, in fact, have an answer for them (or rather my curiosity outweighs my ability to falsify information), I say “I dunno, let’s find out.”
Yesterday the kids asked me if it was hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. “I dunno, let’s find out.”
So we grabbed a piece of tin foil, made a small egg-boat, and placed it in the middle of the road. “The black part of the road is going to be hotter than the sidewalk because the darker color is going to absorb more heat,” I suggested, reaching far into the depths of my elementary school education.
We grab some olive oil and place it in the bottom of the foil dingy (because you don’t want that sun-kissed treat to be stuck to the foil do you?!), and proceed to crack the egg. I pour its liquid contents into the boat and we wait.
After seven minutes, the exact amount of time it takes to sunburn the tops of my feet, the egg hasn’t changed in the least. It’s runny, gross, and not fried. Then a mild gust of wind comes along and capsizes our boat. As the snotty mess fills the cracks in the pavement, David says “Let’s eat it!”
"No, David. That’s how people get cancer."
"Think we can cook it with a magnifying glass?"
"I dunno, let’s find out."