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What you call "life" is about hatred for male-kind.
And that's what you do all day.
Discuss.
And that's what you do all day.
Discuss.
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Oh, this story is so funny. 
You'd agree.
On the other hand, for "she-who-trolls-CV", it is not.
She has started listening to a classical radio station. Her nerves have been frayed of late, and while reading she can no longer listen to music with words, dissonance or even rhythm. So she's switched to a classical station, featuring a good range of music and DJs more crushingly boring than she ever thought possible. The music, though, is working on her; she is now calmer, her powers of concentration have improved dramatically and, best of all, she now knows she does not like Debussy. She'd known for a long time that she liked certain composers - Mozart, Bach, Mahler - though she knew little about them and could name few or none of their works. Otherwise, she didn't know much about much, and nothing about many other classical music-makers (classicists?), including Ravel and Chopin and Debussy. And so these men lurked around her head, smirking at her, making her feel uninformed and lazy and, worst of all, offering the unresolved possibility that one of them might change her life. Because she was 40 and had not yet done a proper sampling of all the composers the earth had known, she could not say for certain that this one or that one - perhaps even Debussy, with his at-once feminine and automotive name - was her favourite music-maker and could change her life. So last Tuesday, as in bed she read Murakami and rubbed her thick socks together, something by Debussy was announced on the radio, and she listened carefully. She quickly found it cloying, annoying, flowery and weak, and knowing this gave her great pleasure. There was too much to know in general, and there were too many dead geniuses she knew nothing about, so to be able to check one off - to be able to move Debussy from the column of someone who could possibly change her life to someone who has no effect on her and was possibly some kind of moron or putz - was enormously gratifying, and allowed her better to concentrate on Murakami, whom one day she planned to marry on a hillside above Capri.
"A No On Debussy" by Dave Eggers
You'd agree. On the other hand, for "she-who-trolls-CV", it is not.
She has started listening to a classical radio station. Her nerves have been frayed of late, and while reading she can no longer listen to music with words, dissonance or even rhythm. So she's switched to a classical station, featuring a good range of music and DJs more crushingly boring than she ever thought possible. The music, though, is working on her; she is now calmer, her powers of concentration have improved dramatically and, best of all, she now knows she does not like Debussy. She'd known for a long time that she liked certain composers - Mozart, Bach, Mahler - though she knew little about them and could name few or none of their works. Otherwise, she didn't know much about much, and nothing about many other classical music-makers (classicists?), including Ravel and Chopin and Debussy. And so these men lurked around her head, smirking at her, making her feel uninformed and lazy and, worst of all, offering the unresolved possibility that one of them might change her life. Because she was 40 and had not yet done a proper sampling of all the composers the earth had known, she could not say for certain that this one or that one - perhaps even Debussy, with his at-once feminine and automotive name - was her favourite music-maker and could change her life. So last Tuesday, as in bed she read Murakami and rubbed her thick socks together, something by Debussy was announced on the radio, and she listened carefully. She quickly found it cloying, annoying, flowery and weak, and knowing this gave her great pleasure. There was too much to know in general, and there were too many dead geniuses she knew nothing about, so to be able to check one off - to be able to move Debussy from the column of someone who could possibly change her life to someone who has no effect on her and was possibly some kind of moron or putz - was enormously gratifying, and allowed her better to concentrate on Murakami, whom one day she planned to marry on a hillside above Capri.
"A No On Debussy" by Dave Eggers
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bumpChilledVodka said:
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Clothing is dishonesty in its purest form.
Discuss
Discuss
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bump.
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bump.
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You know talking to imaginary friends is not good for you You should see a doctor Ask them about what hemlock can do for you
Debbie
You don't get a heart cause your just wierd.
Debbie
You don't get a heart cause your just wierd.
cheerful_deviant
Head of the Flock
- Joined
- Apr 4, 2004
- Posts
- 10,487
ChilledVodka said:
To bad we can't *bump* posts down to.
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I'm sorry I said that about you being wierd but I didnt understand I know you must be one of those really smart people like the Epstien guy with the relatives and I know that must be really hard on you but maybe its cause you dont sleep well and you need a good woman to help you relax and stuff Im real good at that I can give massages and stuff I did that for a while but guys were wanting to touch me all over and I didn't like that so I started dancing stead The guys cant touch me cause the bouncers are really big but Id let you touch me if you want it might help you relax more and people could stand you and stuff.
Debbie
Debbie
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You are very, very "special".
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