In any event, I cannot help but have Sokal's articulate complaints about the whole edifice of twentieth-century literary analysis echo in my ears. The (perhaps idle) conviction that there is some sense in all the bullsh---er, verbiage --- rests with me nonetheless.
Actually, I really, really want to start reading ombroj sur interna pejzagxo, but ELNA tells me it probably won't get here until the 2nd. Maybe I'll finish off the Hillman historical linguistics book or else start the one platypuslord lent me.
This morning I finally finished christmas shopping. I discover with each passing year that I am really just not a big fan of the whole tradition. I'm not sure why I feel such a greater disconnect between gift-giving and friendship/familial affection than most people seem to. Or maybe I simply just don't really like giving or receiving gifts. It always feels to me like a clumsy attempt to second-guess what someone else wants. Maybe I'm just bitter because I've never been good at guessing.
I must remember that C-a and C-e do not work in Windows. Lousy mutter mutter Home mutter End mutter.