I don't have a picture for today, because I do not want to turn on my hard drive. To do so I would have to reach All The Way Across The Desk, and I have better things to do.

A question: Who wants to write essays? NOT ME. I dislike them terribly. Right now I am writing about privilege issues in mid-nineteenth-century Russian literature.
Admittedly, it is a self-imposed topic . . . but I suppose that I regret imposing it.

Speaking of self-imposed! Ummmm nevermind. I was going to bring up a topic, but realized that I actually don't want to talk about it. So . . . puppies? That one seems to be holding something in its mouth.

GOD. FINE, I'll go back to writing.

First, a quote: "It was intercepted just before he was leaning town. It was about to get into the stagecoach and leave for Riga. And the funny thing is that at first I was myself inclined to take him for a gentleman. But luckily I was wearing my glasses at the time and I saw at once that it was a nose. You see, sir, I am shortsighted, and if you were to stand in front of me I would just see that you have a face, but would not be able to make out either your nose or your beard or anything else for that matter." That's Gogol for you.

No comments: