Fun times

Sometimes I worry that I'm not interested enough in literature to pursue a master's in it, but then I spend a few hours reading criticism about Bend Sinister, and it just seems fun, and it makes me worry a bit less.

I feel like there's a lot of hero-worship that goes along with Nabokov, and I want to be less an idolator and more of an idol (now that's religiously sound). What I mean is, I don't think any author is perfect, and I want to keep my perspective even while reading things like "only Nabokov could have written this!"

If you're interested in Bend Sinister, let me know and maybe you can help me edit the paper I'm going to write about it (currently I want to do something with personification, but I might end up doing something with windows).

In which I develop a minor unrealizable crush

I saw The Painted Veil at International Cinema the other day, and I really liked it. I'm not sure if I actually liked the story that much - a woman falls in love with her husband after cheating on him - but I loved the soundtrack and the main actor's looks/character (usually I don't go for movie-star looks, but I make an exception in this case?). He's so... sad all the time, but not pathetic - it's like he's choosing to be sad (which I find... curious). Also, the 20s fashion is quite attractive (I mean, really who can resist suspenders?). But I keep wondering, why did he fall in love with that woman in the first place, knowing she was spoiled and not exactly his intellectual equal? Once again I am treating fictional characters as if they are real people... oh well. If you ever find an available guy who looks kind of like this please tell me about him (assuming that he is passably intelligent).

Money's slave

I hate it, but I feel like a slave of money, or at least a servant. Oh you want me to work 3.5 hours on my day off? No I don't have anything planned. Oh you need me now? I can skip the class I like going to. This is seriously annoying. I can't wait until I have a real job where they don't have to know that I have nothing planned most of the time (except, you know, making pancakes, which I felt didn't qualify). Did I mention I hate thinking about money?

Lately I've been noticing that I'm really insecure about my individuality, because I know I'm probably more like other people than I'd like to admit. Maybe that's why I get a kick out of being so nerdy, it shows how I'm different. I mean - maybe not everyone likes modern literature (I can't really imagine why not)? And that's why it bothers me to hear Keane on the radio, because I thought they were this indie band last.fm was recommending to me, but it turns out they're in the same boat with Coldplay (by the way, I downloaded their new album, which was on sale from Amazon today only, and it wasn't half bad, although I still think bands should write their own music).

One of my only recently conscious goals is to become a polymath. I think that's why I like House and Nabokov's novels so much. The thing is, I'm not sure if I like knowing things for the sake of knowing them, or if I like knowing things because someone else doesn't know it. 'Ya know?

Also, I've taken to being annoyed by people in high-paying jobs who think their time is more important than anyone else's. But really, the rest of the world doesn't care! Examples: doctors, lawyers, therapists. I think that's a big reason I don't want to be a therapist - I'd end up being all self-important and used to clients worshiping me, and then I wouldn't be able to interact normally anymore (assuming that I ever interacted normally). Professors can get that way too, but I think they need to protect themselves sometimes from students who don't know how to read (hey look, I'm already on the way to being a self-justified prof). I'd rather be a professor though, because no one actually cares about them (besides you know, creepy students like me), and they get to just do their own thing most of the time.

Actual conversation in front of Smith's

Man with Beret (MwB): You know, people who wear berets are pretty amazing people.
Me (carrying a backpack full of groceries, unlocking my bike): Yep... pretty much
MwB: Where'd you get yours?
Me: I don't know, somewhere on sale for a buck.
MwB: Czechlosovakia.

Suddenly I feel insecure not having some kind of story to go with my beret! Perhaps next time I can make one up. I feel like such a poser.

Also, my firefox crashed and now the built-in spellcheck no longer works. Help?

Quilty

I watched Lolita over the weekend - the Kubrick 1962 version. It's weird, but I found Quilty (center in this snapshot) to be really hilarious, despite his implied depravity. It's strange because I didn't find the actor nearly as funny in Dr. Strangelove or The Pink Panther. I think I liked that he was fooling Humbert all along... I like knowing what others don't know, I appreciate it when I can be smug with someone once in a while. How horrible!

Vanishing

Usually my job isn't too difficult - just be constantly vigilant, take notes, keep track of time, etc. However, every now and then I have to deal with separated people being really petty to each other, and I have to be polite to them while they do it (make copies of their notes to each other, read said notes, etc.). It stresses me out a lot, and sometimes I wish I could say, "yes, your ex is being immature, but so are you for making such a big deal of [parking, clothing, photographs, etc.])." So to make up for having to be polite at work all the time, I may be especially cheeky (I know, I'm cheeky anyway, but now I have an excuse?). I hate how I'm powerless to change anything at work, or if my notes do change something I'll never hear about it. Why can't people just be good to their kids and spouses in the first place?

I feel like I'm constantly doing things yet accomplishing nothing. I'm not sure how this is happening, but I dislike it. I feel like I'm missing something but I don't know what it is. Like a vanishing point, my nebulous goals seem constantly out of reach. I feel like giving up on achieving anything - that the cult of achievement has led me astray, but that I have no where else to go and that I'm stuck with creating goals and falling short of them. Progress is an illusion.