Number one song after number one song

"Can god know the death of god? Barf." -Lucy Stewart

I've got one exam to crush, tomorrow, God in Philosophy. Remarkably worry free. December is officially the laziest month since November. After tomorrow it's 24/7 Christmas fun and debauchery until I return to the states for the holidays. As for recently, been spending my days catching up on this and last seasons of 30 Rock, eating lots of cereal, threatening to write on people's faces with an enormous black felt-tip marker, missing extraordinary early-morning English tutorials on feminist literary theory because of engagements with the toilet after nights in Glasgow to see Regina Spektor and a flask of Scotmid's finest brandy, listening to a pretty even mixture of Christmas carols, The Chronic, and the Fantastic Mr. Fox soundtrack, getting to know the post office employees on a personal level, pretending my life is as aesthetically pleasing as a '70s Woody Allen film (starting with the chunky, seasonal sweaters), and perusing every major publication's "Holiday Gift Guide" (The WSJ definitely wins this year for their unapologetic lean toward excessive luxury--erm, sorry, "pride in one's work". As for me, I can't decide whether I'd prefer to receive the six figure watch which "negates gravity's restraining force" and "looks as soft as a warming pan of milk," the Bottega Veneta alligator briefcase, or the negligee that takes seven specially-trained-in-the-art-of-lace-construction Belgian seamstresses six hours to craft. What's best is Joe Queenan's op-ed, which, despite undermining the "craftsmanship" element relied on to justify the decadence of the gift guide, encourages Americans everywhere to embrace their lavish sides and splurge seemingly mindlessly. In his words, "Getting those cash registers ringing is almost a patriotic duty, for as our enemies have learned, to their anguish, again and again, a nation prepared to kill is no match for a nation prepared to shop." Yeesh.) in an uncertain attempt to find the perfect gifts for my family members.

I also rewatched Lolita the other night when I was trippin' face after Peter's rager. In the words of Jack Donaghy, "That film has layers." Really though. Every time I watch it the absolute perfection of it resonates even more. I recently watched A Clockwork Orange for the first time in quite awhile, and had similar feelings. I think it's like that with any masterpiece though, literature or film. Like rereading a Pynchon novel and noticing all the hidden subtleties that just work to subconsciously perpetuate the meaning, like the inside of a clock eh. And I think if there's one thing Kubrick's films can be indisputably dubbed, it's masterpieces. I'm really not sure if that last sentence is grammatically correct. In any case, I'm in love with this film, and think that it outshines the novel in many, many ways, one of them actually being Nabokov's own reworking of the book. So go watch it. And then we can talk about it together. Also, Peter Sellers is a dude.



So that's that. Edinburgh has adopted a biting cold, but I don't mind it at all. To quote Sartre, "I am happy: this cold is so pure, this night so pure: am I myself not a wave of icy air?"