I'm just having an awkward night. I crashed at about 9pm, setting my alarm for an hour and only hoping to cat nap. In true form, I heard my alarm, turned it off, and continued sleeping until 2:30. And I woke up sweaty and shivering. I'm plagued by anxious dreams, especially concerning academics. I had an awful semester with my French professor...it was just BAD. So, I had this dream that I'd missed the final exam because I was helping to proctor my friend's. The dream ended when I tearfully confronted my professor with the news, and she told me I was a failure and she was incredibly dissapointe with me, and that I'd tarnished my reputation within the department. Then I woke up in the aforementioned distressed state. What the hell? The semester is OVER. I neer have to encounter her again. I have Philip Usher and Brian next semester, the two best profs in the department. And I already know Brian and have done well in his class and have established a rapport with him. This is good.
So yes, an awkward evening indeed. And because I had a pretty distressed dream, Blood Meridian (although fantastic) is not the sort of thing I feel like reading right now. Maybe I'll read some Bourdain or from the McSweeney's collection (thanks Abbey!). Speaking of books, I was in the Columbia bookstore today (hey, don't judge....it was convenient and I needed to purchase a gift) and it really struck me how god-awful the bookstore is. They've got a horrible selection, are poorly organized, and are connected to the corporate devils known as Barnes and Noble. The only thing they're good for is finding faculty publications, which unfortunately was not what I was buying. But they might have Prof Sharpe's rad new book (which my dad wants to buy, oddly enough). Czech it out: a>
I saw The Wrestler the other day. I still don't know what to make of it. It was certainly a good film, but I don't know if Mickey Rourke is deservant of an Oscar nod, because frankly, he just played himself. It was very well done, however. It began at a low point and managed to sink lower and lower. The end was actually quite a beautiful suicide metaphor, in my opinion. It's the best ambiguous-suicide-ending I've seen since Beau Travail. That'll make little sense unless you've seen it. I assure you, however, that when we watched it in my film class, I bawled my eyes out. And I couldn't listen to that ridiculous "Rhythum of the Night" song for weeks, otherwise I'd get teary. I'm a fucking sap. Hahaha Beau Travail was über homoerotic. Which is really my favorite kind of film anyway, teehehehehe. Denis Lavant is badass. I really want to see the film Mauvais Sangle with a very young Juliette Binoche and Denis Lavant. Unfortunately, it's unavailable on Netflix....but let me say that the trailer involved Bowie and oh-so-many homages to the French New Wave. In other words: EPIC WIN.
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