Temps Mort


Apologies for the stasis here. Been working, studying, partying pretty intensely. I’m way behind on my e-mails, too. I should be back up to speed in the next week. Things to look forward to: someone who knows better tells us what poetry we’ve read and enjoyed all our lives is actually empty, meaningless shit. I’ll discuss John Cheever’s short stories, which French philosophers are worth reading, and try to reduce everything I know about video games to something brief and readable and apply it to Punch-Out! as a kind of dry run for my thesis. And at some point we’ll have a chat with irrepressible playboy-fact checker, Chris.

In the meantime, check out this thoughtful article on the release of the first volume of irascible Irishman (and author of plays that serve as the inspiration for goofy blog names) Samuel Beckett’s letters. Mischa actually got me a job doing research for the project (one of the editors is a professor at the American University of Paris) but I flaked out before I made any contributions. Surely, the only thing stopping Beckett from rolling in his grave are the Guinnesses that Ben and I drank and placed on top of it to celebrate his centenary.


~ by ohkrapp on March 16, 2009.

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