Just put some bacon the pan and put The Tipping Point on. I'm not sure how the first cut is going to grow on me. I like it less this time than previously. We'll see.

You may see some crazed and insane late night posting this weekend. I'm starting (and hopefully finishing) my qual this weekend. Back to the bacon. Hope everyone is well.

Ev

glassy shimmer, the surface of my bourbon,
ice cube floats amongst the oily swirls;
Harsh gentle river down my throat
soothing warmth, aromas of pear, coffee and persimmon;
the marvels of man passing through my hand—hands,
glasses raised with a friend, a long night on the back porch,
it's cold out here, the sky is dark and we are shivering,
commotion inside, thoughts escape and smiles are exchanged,
another glass, the laughter swells;

Prologue

to what? more of the same. A few nights ago, I began a post entitled "Thoughts while sipping bourbon". Surprisingly, I had a great deal to say, and though I continued tapping away during my shift the next day, it still isn't finished. Until then, I have "More thoughts while sipping bourbon", though all of you have yet to see previous thoughts, hence the title "prologue", though I think I prefer "Prelude". I'm listening to Soul One, a rather unfortunate name for a song I very much like. I've mentioned it before, in post about rediscovering old music. So, here I am listening to anguished music (the best kind) and sipping bourbon. I should be studying the Kinetic Molecular Theory, but my head is exhausted from the expedition I undertook last night. Last week, being the keener nerd that I am—and perhaps a little presumptious—I stupidly volunteered to explicate Paul de Man's musings on Reading (Proust) to my class. Yesterday arrived, and I still hadn't read the article. Today arrived and I'd read it twice, taken copious notes, but slept little. The presentation went well, perhaps very well, though I'm not sure how much was understood. I decided to follow de Man and attempted to insist on meaning's indecidability in a performative manner somewhat similiar to his. I toned it down, I don't think I was convoluted, but then I knew what I was talking about, I think. Others may not have. They were probably left in an aporia similar to that de Man describes the reader as in when faced with one of Proust's logically incoherent metaphors, or not. They may have simply felt confused. I, on the other hand, had a wondrous moment of revelation this morning, very much like the moment where "life" becomes writing, which occurs in a process similar to reading and critical understanding. You see? Not so much, eh? Well, perhaps when I don't have other things I need to rush off to, I will attempt a proper set of musings on de Man. Look for Thoughts while sipping ether.

There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a man in the depths of an ether binge.
— HST

[somehow, R.I.P. just doesn't seem to fit]

I must be off. Hope you all are well.