Notes on a Scandalous Life

This morning, I completed my final for Modern Grammar. I only vaguely understood a number of the questions, so my guess is that my grade on this will be something of a... low. Which is okay with me. Any grade that is a passing grade will satisfy me perfectly, in this class. My teacher, a very sweaty, very Italian man (but also extremely lovable!) rarely spoke comprehendably about anything except his love for The Golden Girls. My grasp on Chomskian sentence diagramming suffered accordingly. But then, to be fair, I doubt I would have ever really caught on to anything that Chomsky had to say about syntax, anyway. We were once guest-lectured by a professor who referred to subjects as things like "actors" and direct objects as "recipients", and I found this approach, with its room for creativity, to be much more up my alley. So, fuck you, Chomsky. I never liked your theories about Subject Verb Object, anyway. I will be happy if I make a D in this class.

And now, I am listening to the soundtrack to Into the Wild. Prior to hearing this record, I never knew that Eddie Vedder could be so... delicious. But he is.

And so, until MyLeo is up and I can investigate the terms and conditions for my final midterm (It's online! Squeal!), I'm just going to sit here, listening to Eddie Vedder singing (deliciously) about the joys and sorrows of the nomadic lifestyle, and possibly reading Wicked. I started it a few days ago, after hearing from a few people that it was way, way more colorful than the play, and had morally disturbed them a little. I have yet to be disturbed, but I'm only about 50 pages in. There's still hope.