Sunday, 8 July 2012

End of Year

You know it's the end of the academic year when your e-mail traffic stops. Otherwise it just trundles on forever, and to stop it, you just have to take the initiative and leave, go on holiday, say 'fuck it', or in our case, say fuck it staring at the kitchen. That the e-mail traffic has stopped must be the final sign that everybody is exhausted with examining everybody else and can't bare it anymore.
It's a curious feeling, the scope of a summer's noodling about. Jetstream permitting, Boris Johnson's pop-up universe (the origin for which I think lies in Potemkin's villages for Catherine the Great, will be a wash out, we shall host the drowned Olympics, with it's abiding edifice it's aquatic centre, and mass canoeing around and about. Johnson's phraseology is truely horrific, he's put sunglasses on County Hall, and begs us to 'get stuck in' as if the whole metropolis had become his private sunday lunch with him being the ever hopeful, ever positive host, dolling out the plastic boaters (made in China).
I've set myself to reading some bad stuff, evil stuff, to counter what is coming. I shall be reading Oswald Spengler's Decline of the West, now apparently newly and ominously popular. But right now, I'll be happy with simple observations, such as the Harrison Ford film 'The Fugitive' (that we watched last night) is actually 'Die Hard' for academics or that 'American Pie' (which we watched the other night) is possibly one of the greatest films ever made, even though I feel sorry for the guy who plays  'Stiffler'. He'll be stuck with being 'Stiffler' for the whole of your acting career, and that can only spell doom.

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