Yesterday, it snowed. Not just flurries, not just like the fake plastic icing in a can that you could spray on boughs in San Diego--no, this is snow! Three to six beautiful, bright white inches of snow!
And what did I do in it? I played ultimate.
No rants about ultimate here, they are inconsequential at best. Suffice it to say that frisbee in Warwick was colder than a turd in a freezer (not that I keep turds in freezers) and that this winter will be a time to make myself an ultimate machine!
Today, with the residue of illness still festering in my nostrils and muscles, I went to class and was revitalized, reenthused, reinfused by some sort of faith in discussion and learning. In my expos class, we had a discussion about the obligations of literature, and art, in there is any, and my preceptor, to my great surprise, deigned to mention that this is what our essays, or essays in general about art, should ultimately seek to answer. He set the dangling carrot down on the table briefly, and chewed on it himself.
Still, the ideas seem fleeting and self-indulgent, but I'm thinking there might be something to the objective existence of them. We'll see!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment