All White? All Wright!
I'm a little down. I was really hoping my building on ebay would go for more than ten dollars. It represented a sizable ammount of work. Oh well...
Here's a weird one for you. The other day, I was driving through the Wendy's drive through and listening to Native Son and I realized that the man handing me the food was African American and so I turned off this classic of African American literature for fear that the N word would come up and the man behind the counter would take offense at my celebrating his culture.
Ahem...
Also, I think that Native Son should be retitled The Worst First Day On The Job Ever. He works for about eight hours and then molests, kills, and beheads his bosses daughter. Man, that sucks. That's like this one time I was digging a ditch while working for a temp agency and the guys who I was working with were trying to figure out if the floor of the ditch was level and they had this piece of equipment that decided if the thing was level and it was like, you know, reeeeeaaaaal precise, and I kicked it by accident just a little bit and it ruined their whole calculations for the day....so, I cut off their heads and shoved them in a furnace.
I guess what I'm saying is that I can really relate to Richard Wright's novel Native Son....
In that same vein, I can't tell if Richard Wright is really really bad as an author or if he's Kafka-esque. Let me tell you why I'm torn. Okay, he sucks. That's plain. The whole damn thing is just absolutely unbelievable, and he uses the word "hate" about every other sentence. Plus, I love the bit about how he really had raped the white girl because he had raped every white girl he'd ever seen, in his heart. Really endearing.
But then there's this scene where all the newspaper reporters are sitting down in the basement with the boiler, and the smoke starts belching out of the thing, and I'm thinking, 'why the hell are they in the fucking basement.' The only answers are, a--Richard Wright isn't exactly on top of the game, or b--it's like those torturers in the broom closet in The Trial. I think I may be onto something, but I'm not really sure what.
Also, I've decided to do my dissertation on red badges in 19th century. Obviously, I'll be looking at The Scarlet Letter, The Red Badge of Courage, and numerous other stories involving red badges.
Here's a weird one for you. The other day, I was driving through the Wendy's drive through and listening to Native Son and I realized that the man handing me the food was African American and so I turned off this classic of African American literature for fear that the N word would come up and the man behind the counter would take offense at my celebrating his culture.
Ahem...
Also, I think that Native Son should be retitled The Worst First Day On The Job Ever. He works for about eight hours and then molests, kills, and beheads his bosses daughter. Man, that sucks. That's like this one time I was digging a ditch while working for a temp agency and the guys who I was working with were trying to figure out if the floor of the ditch was level and they had this piece of equipment that decided if the thing was level and it was like, you know, reeeeeaaaaal precise, and I kicked it by accident just a little bit and it ruined their whole calculations for the day....so, I cut off their heads and shoved them in a furnace.
I guess what I'm saying is that I can really relate to Richard Wright's novel Native Son....
In that same vein, I can't tell if Richard Wright is really really bad as an author or if he's Kafka-esque. Let me tell you why I'm torn. Okay, he sucks. That's plain. The whole damn thing is just absolutely unbelievable, and he uses the word "hate" about every other sentence. Plus, I love the bit about how he really had raped the white girl because he had raped every white girl he'd ever seen, in his heart. Really endearing.
But then there's this scene where all the newspaper reporters are sitting down in the basement with the boiler, and the smoke starts belching out of the thing, and I'm thinking, 'why the hell are they in the fucking basement.' The only answers are, a--Richard Wright isn't exactly on top of the game, or b--it's like those torturers in the broom closet in The Trial. I think I may be onto something, but I'm not really sure what.
Also, I've decided to do my dissertation on red badges in 19th century. Obviously, I'll be looking at The Scarlet Letter, The Red Badge of Courage, and numerous other stories involving red badges.
posted by Monstro D. Whale at
11:20 AM
2 Comments:
So, at Wendy's, did you ask to "Bigger" size your order? (Just kidding.) Anywy, I wonder what's worse: Living in a Chicago ghetto in the 30s or working in fast food today?
Have found some suggested "Red Badge" books for your epic dissertation. They will be coming in the mail soonest. In the meantime try making up some rules for placement, AP, and other stats for your bunker and then repost it. Avoid telling possible buyers that you used doorstops and plastic electrical boxes. It just diminishes the professionally painted and detailed, multi-resin crafted battle platform.
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