Google finally, finally implemented my brilliant idea: gmail group chat.
But now when will I do work?
Thursday, November 29, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
never is a not promise.
Since the last time I whined about how little time I have to read, I've made a concerted effort to do better. Reading is my only hobby, after all. I can't neglect it, otherwise I'll be even more boring than I am now. I managed to finish a few books (see my new goodreads thingy if you actually care) and I feel better about myself now. Go me.
Anyway, as promised, I read the The Scarlet Letter over Thanksgiving. I said I'd never, ever read it, but alas, I'm happy to say I broke that promise. I'll never be a huge fan of gothic romances, but I did enjoy the book. (It was certainly better than the movie, but what book isn't?) I also sufficiently conquered my fear of Puritans that I'm now reading a history of colonial America. I now know that Pilgrims aren't the same thing as Puritans, and that Benjamin Franklin is distantly related to the founder of Folger's coffee (through his mother, Abiah Folger).
Really, the whole story is new to me. I was never taught American history in school. All I remember from elementary school is that the Native Americans invented lacrosse and the Dutch were the original settlers in Manhattan. I studied US history for a brief moment in 9th grade, but my teacher had lipstick covering half her face and that made it difficult to pay attention. Later on, we covered 20th century American history, but I pretty much missed out on everything that came before the First World War. I studied the Mexican Revolution for about six months, but no one ever mentioned the American Revolution.
And up until recently, I wasn't so interested. Pre-20th century American history always seemed like a boring subplot to whatever was happening in Europe. In college I read some Jefferson and learned a little about Constitutional history, but that's about it. It's tempting to blame my lack of curiosity on the fact that I'm the grandchild of immigrants, but really, isn't everyone? And it's not like I know anything about my actual ancestors, who did absolutely nothing of note in the shtetls of Europe and the potato fields of Ireland.
Being something of a half-breed, and the child of transient parents, I really have very little allegiance to anything. I have no religious affiliation, no hometown, dual citizenship and less than a century of accurate family history. The only thing I know for sure is that I'm an American. It might be good to know something about that.
Now, who wants to draw up a syllabus for me?
Anyway, as promised, I read the The Scarlet Letter over Thanksgiving. I said I'd never, ever read it, but alas, I'm happy to say I broke that promise. I'll never be a huge fan of gothic romances, but I did enjoy the book. (It was certainly better than the movie, but what book isn't?) I also sufficiently conquered my fear of Puritans that I'm now reading a history of colonial America. I now know that Pilgrims aren't the same thing as Puritans, and that Benjamin Franklin is distantly related to the founder of Folger's coffee (through his mother, Abiah Folger).
Really, the whole story is new to me. I was never taught American history in school. All I remember from elementary school is that the Native Americans invented lacrosse and the Dutch were the original settlers in Manhattan. I studied US history for a brief moment in 9th grade, but my teacher had lipstick covering half her face and that made it difficult to pay attention. Later on, we covered 20th century American history, but I pretty much missed out on everything that came before the First World War. I studied the Mexican Revolution for about six months, but no one ever mentioned the American Revolution.
And up until recently, I wasn't so interested. Pre-20th century American history always seemed like a boring subplot to whatever was happening in Europe. In college I read some Jefferson and learned a little about Constitutional history, but that's about it. It's tempting to blame my lack of curiosity on the fact that I'm the grandchild of immigrants, but really, isn't everyone? And it's not like I know anything about my actual ancestors, who did absolutely nothing of note in the shtetls of Europe and the potato fields of Ireland.
Being something of a half-breed, and the child of transient parents, I really have very little allegiance to anything. I have no religious affiliation, no hometown, dual citizenship and less than a century of accurate family history. The only thing I know for sure is that I'm an American. It might be good to know something about that.
Now, who wants to draw up a syllabus for me?
Monday, November 26, 2007
i love firefighters.
Here’s a rough breakdown of my Sunday night:
4:35-ish: I arrive back home from a nice day out and about in the city.
4:40-ish: I realize that there is water dripping from my ceiling and onto my living room floor.
4:46: I call my landlord. No one answers, I leave a message.
4:47: I call my Mommy. She tells me to go talk to the neighbors upstairs.
4:50-5:02: Rose, my upstairs neighbor, shows me the insane water damage on her ceiling and tells me that she has been calling the management company (they are supposed to fix this sort of thing) since Wednesday night. She also tells me that there is also extensive water damage in the apartments on the 3rd and 4th floors.
5:04: I call my landlord again. He picks up. I give him the low-down, and he tells me that he will call the management company.
From about 5:15 until 8:00, I just putz around. I make myself some dinner, read the rest of the Sunday New York Times, do my laundry, and watch some Grey’s Anatomy. The whole time, the small bubble of water gathering under the plaster of my ceiling is expanding, and the amount of water collecting in a pot on my floor is growing.
8:00-ish: My roommate, Julia, returns. She views ceiling with horror, supplies towels to cover floor with.
9:00-ish: The plaster groans. Daryl and her sister return, the situation is explained. No one is pleased.
9:15-ish: A large chunk of plaster falls off the ceiling. All roommates freak out. Julia calls this "our very own Katrina."
9:25: I call my landlord again. He comes over to see what’s going on. He does basically everything we’ve already done – goes to talk to the neighbors, calls the management company again. By the time he leaves, water has started to seep into the kitchen ceiling, and is now dripping onto our refrigerator and stove.
10:35: A whole horde of firefighters show up at my door.
10:37: My landlord appears, and explains that he called them. He was worried about the electrical system shorting out due to water damage.
10:40-11:00: I discover I love firemen. They are so attractive in their flame retardant suits. They also break down a door in my basement and debate whether or not to turn off the water in the building. After a while they decide not to, and instead issue a violation order for my landlord to deliver to the management company. The firemen explain that if someone doesn’t come in 24 hours to fix the problem, we can issue a summons and sue the bastards. I am silently very grateful for the fact that both my landlord and my father are lawyers.
12:15 am: The head of the condo board shows up at my door. He wants to see the ceiling. He rants for five minutes about the incompetence of various incompetent people. I want to point out to him that I am in pajamas, and would like to go to bed. I don’t.
As of right now, I have no idea what the condition of my ceiling is, but I'm sleeping at my parents apartment tonight, and wrapping all my valuables in plastic bags.
4:35-ish: I arrive back home from a nice day out and about in the city.
4:40-ish: I realize that there is water dripping from my ceiling and onto my living room floor.
4:46: I call my landlord. No one answers, I leave a message.
4:47: I call my Mommy. She tells me to go talk to the neighbors upstairs.
4:50-5:02: Rose, my upstairs neighbor, shows me the insane water damage on her ceiling and tells me that she has been calling the management company (they are supposed to fix this sort of thing) since Wednesday night. She also tells me that there is also extensive water damage in the apartments on the 3rd and 4th floors.
5:04: I call my landlord again. He picks up. I give him the low-down, and he tells me that he will call the management company.
From about 5:15 until 8:00, I just putz around. I make myself some dinner, read the rest of the Sunday New York Times, do my laundry, and watch some Grey’s Anatomy. The whole time, the small bubble of water gathering under the plaster of my ceiling is expanding, and the amount of water collecting in a pot on my floor is growing.
8:00-ish: My roommate, Julia, returns. She views ceiling with horror, supplies towels to cover floor with.
9:00-ish: The plaster groans. Daryl and her sister return, the situation is explained. No one is pleased.
9:15-ish: A large chunk of plaster falls off the ceiling. All roommates freak out. Julia calls this "our very own Katrina."
9:25: I call my landlord again. He comes over to see what’s going on. He does basically everything we’ve already done – goes to talk to the neighbors, calls the management company again. By the time he leaves, water has started to seep into the kitchen ceiling, and is now dripping onto our refrigerator and stove.
10:35: A whole horde of firefighters show up at my door.
10:37: My landlord appears, and explains that he called them. He was worried about the electrical system shorting out due to water damage.
10:40-11:00: I discover I love firemen. They are so attractive in their flame retardant suits. They also break down a door in my basement and debate whether or not to turn off the water in the building. After a while they decide not to, and instead issue a violation order for my landlord to deliver to the management company. The firemen explain that if someone doesn’t come in 24 hours to fix the problem, we can issue a summons and sue the bastards. I am silently very grateful for the fact that both my landlord and my father are lawyers.
12:15 am: The head of the condo board shows up at my door. He wants to see the ceiling. He rants for five minutes about the incompetence of various incompetent people. I want to point out to him that I am in pajamas, and would like to go to bed. I don’t.
As of right now, I have no idea what the condition of my ceiling is, but I'm sleeping at my parents apartment tonight, and wrapping all my valuables in plastic bags.
Friday, November 23, 2007
gobble, gobble.
Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, by far. I love fall, and pumpkin pie, and mashed potatoes. I love Thanksgiving. For years my family would go to Philadelphia to see my relatives there, and that was fine, but since I started college we've stayed in New York, and Thanksgiving has gotten even better.
This year, after going to see the Macy's Day Parade, I spent the day alternating between the kitchen and the living room couch, where my cousin, who came down from Boston, patiently explained the rules of football to me and my sister, yet again. (I still don't understand the scoring.) Then we all pigged out, on squash soup, turkey, mashed potatoes, carmelized onions, salad with pear and gorgonzola, cornbread stuffing and cranberry sauce. After all that, we normally go for a walk to digest and come back for the grand finale: pie. After pie, as per tradition of the last couple years, we went out to a jazz club. My cousin is a jazz musician, so he picks the best show in town, and it's always fantastic. Last night was no exception.
I'm sad Thanksgiving is over. But, for posterity, here is a picture of this years pie, baked with my own loving hands:
This year, after going to see the Macy's Day Parade, I spent the day alternating between the kitchen and the living room couch, where my cousin, who came down from Boston, patiently explained the rules of football to me and my sister, yet again. (I still don't understand the scoring.) Then we all pigged out, on squash soup, turkey, mashed potatoes, carmelized onions, salad with pear and gorgonzola, cornbread stuffing and cranberry sauce. After all that, we normally go for a walk to digest and come back for the grand finale: pie. After pie, as per tradition of the last couple years, we went out to a jazz club. My cousin is a jazz musician, so he picks the best show in town, and it's always fantastic. Last night was no exception.
I'm sad Thanksgiving is over. But, for posterity, here is a picture of this years pie, baked with my own loving hands:
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
vive la france!
Let me preface this post by saying that I like France. Despite my strange allergic reaction to Paris about two years ago, I am not a Francophobe. I like French wine, French literature, French sauce, French fashion, and France in general. I particularly like discussing French literature, in French, while wearing French fashion, drinking French wine and eating something covered in French sauce. Oui, c’est vraiment parfait, n’est pas?
Eh, ben…(translation, for those of you who weren’t in my high school French class: Uh, well….) this does not mean that France doesn’t totally befuddle me. There is a particularly amazing article in the most recent New Yorker on Dieudonné M’Bala M’Bala which illustrates perfectly the nature of my befuddlement. Dieudonné (which just happens to mean God-given, btw) is a successful half-Cameroonian half-French comedian turned politician. Midway through his career, he also became a vocal anti-semite and a leading advocate for the pygmies (who, in case you are wondering, live mostly in Cameroon).
If you think this is all a bit strange, well spotted, because it really is. I’m not in any way qualified to speak on the current state of French racial or religious politics, but clearly, there are some issues going on, and not just in the banlieue. What really struck me, though, was the number of times the French Revolution, the Enlightenment and even Voltaire are mentioned in this article.
When asked if he has a problem with all Jews, Dieudonné says: “If you are French and attached to the philosophy of the Enlightenment – the universal – you do not recognize the border” between religious groups. And his closing line is even better: “The French Revolution is my tradition. It’s a mind-set of the French, that you need a revolution. I am deeply French.” I was waiting for a mention of Rousseau and the general will, but thankfully, that didn’t come up.
Dieudonné is justifying anti-Semitism on the basis that Judaism transgresses the universal ideals of the French Revolution. For some reason, this message has been a huge hit with the youth of the banlieue, and others. I had a predictably Arendtian reaction to the idea, and anyone who has read On Revolution will understand instantly why. I find it amazing that more than 200 years later, some people are still relishing the ideals of the French Revolution. Perhaps they are forgetting it wasn’t a raging success? The King was kaput, yes, but then there was the whole guillotine debacle, and that funky new calendar that never quite caught on, and if I remember correctly, it all ended with a small yet surprisingly feisty Emperor rampaging around Europe. A change, definitely, but most people would argue it could have been handled better.
The ideals of the French Revolution are still very much a presence in French political life, just as we like to quote the Constitution in this country. Nothing wrong with that, per se, except that, in America, the Revolution itself is over. For Dieudonné and those who agree with him, though, it seems that the Revolution is not quite finished. Universal enlightenment has yet to be achieved, apparently. Go figure. While it’s true that Thomas Jefferson wanted the Constitution to be thrown out every seven years so it wouldn’t get stale, T.J. and the Founders (good name for a band, yes?) didn’t actually put that clause into the Constitution. They realized, as Marx did not, that a permanent revolution creates all kinds of problems.
Of course, Dieudonné does not represent France, or the majority of French people. At the same time, though, he is not a complete political or social outlier. Neither is Jean-Marie Le Pen, for that matter. While neither will ever be President, they have support, lots of fans, and most befuddling of all, it seems they also have the universal ideals of the ongoing French Revolution to back them up.
Eh, ben…(translation, for those of you who weren’t in my high school French class: Uh, well….) this does not mean that France doesn’t totally befuddle me. There is a particularly amazing article in the most recent New Yorker on Dieudonné M’Bala M’Bala which illustrates perfectly the nature of my befuddlement. Dieudonné (which just happens to mean God-given, btw) is a successful half-Cameroonian half-French comedian turned politician. Midway through his career, he also became a vocal anti-semite and a leading advocate for the pygmies (who, in case you are wondering, live mostly in Cameroon).
If you think this is all a bit strange, well spotted, because it really is. I’m not in any way qualified to speak on the current state of French racial or religious politics, but clearly, there are some issues going on, and not just in the banlieue. What really struck me, though, was the number of times the French Revolution, the Enlightenment and even Voltaire are mentioned in this article.
When asked if he has a problem with all Jews, Dieudonné says: “If you are French and attached to the philosophy of the Enlightenment – the universal – you do not recognize the border” between religious groups. And his closing line is even better: “The French Revolution is my tradition. It’s a mind-set of the French, that you need a revolution. I am deeply French.” I was waiting for a mention of Rousseau and the general will, but thankfully, that didn’t come up.
Dieudonné is justifying anti-Semitism on the basis that Judaism transgresses the universal ideals of the French Revolution. For some reason, this message has been a huge hit with the youth of the banlieue, and others. I had a predictably Arendtian reaction to the idea, and anyone who has read On Revolution will understand instantly why. I find it amazing that more than 200 years later, some people are still relishing the ideals of the French Revolution. Perhaps they are forgetting it wasn’t a raging success? The King was kaput, yes, but then there was the whole guillotine debacle, and that funky new calendar that never quite caught on, and if I remember correctly, it all ended with a small yet surprisingly feisty Emperor rampaging around Europe. A change, definitely, but most people would argue it could have been handled better.
The ideals of the French Revolution are still very much a presence in French political life, just as we like to quote the Constitution in this country. Nothing wrong with that, per se, except that, in America, the Revolution itself is over. For Dieudonné and those who agree with him, though, it seems that the Revolution is not quite finished. Universal enlightenment has yet to be achieved, apparently. Go figure. While it’s true that Thomas Jefferson wanted the Constitution to be thrown out every seven years so it wouldn’t get stale, T.J. and the Founders (good name for a band, yes?) didn’t actually put that clause into the Constitution. They realized, as Marx did not, that a permanent revolution creates all kinds of problems.
Of course, Dieudonné does not represent France, or the majority of French people. At the same time, though, he is not a complete political or social outlier. Neither is Jean-Marie Le Pen, for that matter. While neither will ever be President, they have support, lots of fans, and most befuddling of all, it seems they also have the universal ideals of the ongoing French Revolution to back them up.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
simple pleasures.
A good book + house to myself + yummy Saturday brunch + cute new bag + depressing movie + Sunday New York Times + laundry + pancakes & coffee + Gilmore Girls = the best weekend ever.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
life is hard, #43
I’ve got this pair of shoes, and every time I wear them, it rains. They are not rain shoes, either. Sometimes it rains when I don’t wear them, but if I’m wearing them, it always rains. I wore them today, and of course, it rained. Last time I wore them, I had to wait for a bus, for forty minutes, in the pouring rain. Today I only had to walk to Chinatown for lunch, but it was still unpleasant.
The shoes aren’t entirely to blame, though. The weather report told me it was going to rain, and I wore them anyway. So maybe the conclusion should be that I’m dumb? I prefer to blame the shoes. Evil, evil rain shoes.
Anyone who loves the West Wing as much as I do will remember President Bartlet's lucky tie - the one that gets ruined right before the debates, and when he keeps moaning about it Abbey cuts the tie he's wearing in half right before he has to go on stage, and then Josh gives him the one he's wearing, and everything works out in the end. Remember that? Even if you don't, trust me, it was good. Anyway, I don't have a lucky tie, or lucky shoes or a lucky sweater. Not even a lucky pen, to cling to when times get rough. Instead, I have shoes that make it rain.
Ugh.
Life is hard.
The shoes aren’t entirely to blame, though. The weather report told me it was going to rain, and I wore them anyway. So maybe the conclusion should be that I’m dumb? I prefer to blame the shoes. Evil, evil rain shoes.
Anyone who loves the West Wing as much as I do will remember President Bartlet's lucky tie - the one that gets ruined right before the debates, and when he keeps moaning about it Abbey cuts the tie he's wearing in half right before he has to go on stage, and then Josh gives him the one he's wearing, and everything works out in the end. Remember that? Even if you don't, trust me, it was good. Anyway, I don't have a lucky tie, or lucky shoes or a lucky sweater. Not even a lucky pen, to cling to when times get rough. Instead, I have shoes that make it rain.
Ugh.
Life is hard.
Monday, November 12, 2007
wwfd? (what would freud do?)
On the subway this morning, the two women next to me were discussing their mothers, both of whom, it turns out, were formerly nuns.
Upon realizing the coincidence, one of the women said to the other, "Wow, we should really talk more."
Upon realizing the coincidence, one of the women said to the other, "Wow, we should really talk more."
Friday, November 9, 2007
regret. that's a song by ben folds, right?
A few weeks ago, I went to a lecture at Columbia called “Freedom and the University.” One of my former professors was speaking on the panel, along with three other well-known professors of history, literature and law. There was a lot of talk about the unhealthy influence of the Israel lobby in determining the hiring and firing of certain professors, as well as the recent attempts by some state legislatures to rid the classroom of political belief and put an end to the “indoctrination” of students by liberal professors.
I was really sad that no one re-enacted the trial of Socrates. Other than that, the conclusions drawn were what you’d expect. Everybody agreed that academics and students should be free to write and say what they want without fear of retribution from the state or the university. Higher education must be a place of free debate, where political concerns are vital but not controlling. How you achieve that, though, is a question no one addressed.
I’ve joked before that Chicago indoctrinated me, though in the opposite way than most other universities would have. From the moment I stepped on campus, I was consistently told that most of what I thought I knew was wrong. I remember one incident in particular, when a grad student TA opened a discussion section by saying, “So, who can tell me why everything Thomas Friedman writes is incorrect?” At that point, I loved Friedman. From Beirut to Jerusalem was one of my all-time top five books in high school. My TA was just being provocative, though, and indoctrination in no way invites provocative debate. In reality, high school was way more indoctrinating than college. I never actually had to defend what I thought, so I never really questioned it. In college I was constantly wrong, until I figured out that actually, everyone else was wrong too. It was great.
This subject was on my mind even before the lecture, actually, because of the Regrets Pamphlet , which was published by N+1 a couple weeks ago. I admit I have not read the pamphlet, but I’ve skimmed it, and I’ve read a lot about it. (It even friended me on facebook. No kidding.) Basically, it’s a series of witty dialogues between the editors of N+1 and their friends, and it includes a list of books each participant thinks everyone should read in college. Ostensibly, they want you to not regret your education. For me, though, the whole point of college was to be stupid, and then to regret it.
I, for one, regret taking that dumb world literatures class, instead of something actually challenging. I regret not taking a grad class on Nietzsche. I regret taking that bio class on the development of fish embryos, instead of reading Habermas and Weber, or finishing the Peloponnesian War. At the end of the day, though, I couldn’t be sure I didn’t give a shit about fish embryos or the globalization of widgets until I had to regret reading about them, just like I didn’t know I cared about philosophy until I started to regret not reading more of it.
We all regret that time we drank so much we puked, but doesn’t it generally keep us from ever drinking that much again? To this day I can’t stand the sight of Bacardi 151, and in the long run, that’s a good thing. At this point, I could say something totally trite and inane, like, “life is meaningless without regret,” but I’ll refrain. I will say, though, that the Regrets Pamphlet is being sold for $9, so clearly, regret is worth something.
I was really sad that no one re-enacted the trial of Socrates. Other than that, the conclusions drawn were what you’d expect. Everybody agreed that academics and students should be free to write and say what they want without fear of retribution from the state or the university. Higher education must be a place of free debate, where political concerns are vital but not controlling. How you achieve that, though, is a question no one addressed.
I’ve joked before that Chicago indoctrinated me, though in the opposite way than most other universities would have. From the moment I stepped on campus, I was consistently told that most of what I thought I knew was wrong. I remember one incident in particular, when a grad student TA opened a discussion section by saying, “So, who can tell me why everything Thomas Friedman writes is incorrect?” At that point, I loved Friedman. From Beirut to Jerusalem was one of my all-time top five books in high school. My TA was just being provocative, though, and indoctrination in no way invites provocative debate. In reality, high school was way more indoctrinating than college. I never actually had to defend what I thought, so I never really questioned it. In college I was constantly wrong, until I figured out that actually, everyone else was wrong too. It was great.
This subject was on my mind even before the lecture, actually, because of the Regrets Pamphlet , which was published by N+1 a couple weeks ago. I admit I have not read the pamphlet, but I’ve skimmed it, and I’ve read a lot about it. (It even friended me on facebook. No kidding.) Basically, it’s a series of witty dialogues between the editors of N+1 and their friends, and it includes a list of books each participant thinks everyone should read in college. Ostensibly, they want you to not regret your education. For me, though, the whole point of college was to be stupid, and then to regret it.
I, for one, regret taking that dumb world literatures class, instead of something actually challenging. I regret not taking a grad class on Nietzsche. I regret taking that bio class on the development of fish embryos, instead of reading Habermas and Weber, or finishing the Peloponnesian War. At the end of the day, though, I couldn’t be sure I didn’t give a shit about fish embryos or the globalization of widgets until I had to regret reading about them, just like I didn’t know I cared about philosophy until I started to regret not reading more of it.
We all regret that time we drank so much we puked, but doesn’t it generally keep us from ever drinking that much again? To this day I can’t stand the sight of Bacardi 151, and in the long run, that’s a good thing. At this point, I could say something totally trite and inane, like, “life is meaningless without regret,” but I’ll refrain. I will say, though, that the Regrets Pamphlet is being sold for $9, so clearly, regret is worth something.
Friday, November 2, 2007
philosophers in tights!
It has been a very long week. But now, it’s Friday! I’ve finished preparing an enormous presentation, my boss isn’t coming in, and I’m going out of town tomorrow!
In conclusion, I intend to slack off today. In the hopes that you will too, I present: Action Philosophers! (The one on Descartes is particularly amusing.)
Peace out.
5pm Update: Here's a small [edited] part of a very long gchat, for your amusement.
R: in any case, [when in grad school] i will pretentiously review my course reading on goodreads
and you will get email updates
J: Spinoza: meh - he's ok, I guess
R: exactly
J: Rousseau: what a moron.
R: Plato: overrated
J: Machiavelli: overdone.
R: Foucault: too contrived
R: ok, now i am actually going home
J: oh! i was just going to say something funny about Aquinas
oh well
have a good weekend
R: wait, you were really going to say something about him?
J: yes. but it's too late now. it won't be funny anymore.
R: :( fine
J: another day. we can write a comic book! about ourselves!
R: that's what blogs are for
J: traveling back in time to talk to philosophers
"So, Hobbes, what trauma did you sustain as a child that made you think all men are evil? Please, enlighten us."
it'll be great
ok, ok, you can go
R: ok, i am going. have fun in the bufus of new york
J: i will! have fun in the swamp that is dc
R: indeed
In conclusion, I intend to slack off today. In the hopes that you will too, I present: Action Philosophers! (The one on Descartes is particularly amusing.)
Peace out.
5pm Update: Here's a small [edited] part of a very long gchat, for your amusement.
R: in any case, [when in grad school] i will pretentiously review my course reading on goodreads
and you will get email updates
J: Spinoza: meh - he's ok, I guess
R: exactly
J: Rousseau: what a moron.
R: Plato: overrated
J: Machiavelli: overdone.
R: Foucault: too contrived
R: ok, now i am actually going home
J: oh! i was just going to say something funny about Aquinas
oh well
have a good weekend
R: wait, you were really going to say something about him?
J: yes. but it's too late now. it won't be funny anymore.
R: :( fine
J: another day. we can write a comic book! about ourselves!
R: that's what blogs are for
J: traveling back in time to talk to philosophers
"So, Hobbes, what trauma did you sustain as a child that made you think all men are evil? Please, enlighten us."
it'll be great
ok, ok, you can go
R: ok, i am going. have fun in the bufus of new york
J: i will! have fun in the swamp that is dc
R: indeed
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