It's Friday afternoon. This is my blog. I can type ANYTHING I WANT and the internet has to either deal with it or click away to an awesome gif of a sloth hugging something. Well GUESS WHAT INTERNET.
I've realized in years past that I read a lot of lady authors. I don't know if this was a conscious decision on my part, but probs a mixture of conscious and un-. Because lady authors, especially from the 19th century, were rare, and so if their stuff got famous you're kind of like "Oh yeah. They must've been pretty cool maybe probably." So we have the Brontes and George Eliot and George Sand (I HAVE GEORGE SAND FEELINGS) and Edith Wharton and Austen and...other people I'm not thinking of right now. And they're all swell. And then you've got like Dickens and Wilkie and Balzac and Hugo and Scott and Trollope, and I haven't read ANY Scott or Trollope and that's really terrible, but there it is.
I dunno, you want to read about women, and men sometimes suck at writing women (ditto about women writing men -- this is part of why Charlotte Bronte's The Professor sucks so hard). Whereas Edith Wharton's like "Here, let me give you an awesome/amazing portrayal of a lady who is Going Through Something." And I say "Okay!!" Then I go to NYC and visit Washington Square Park and get all Wharton moony-eyed until I see two hipsters sharing some tofu while reading to each other from Baudelaire and then my eyes narrow and I walk off to defiantly eat a hot dog and listen to Britney Spears.
In terms of lit today, I'm suspicious in different ways of female/male writing. Women I sometimes expect to be obnoxiously feminist (feminism is NOT obnoxious, but The Mists of Avalon is) and men I expect to be either overly pretentious or overly into their own emotions. Which is maybe why I like Westerns like The Sisters Brothers. More shooting things, please. Just not kids. Or animals. Just bad people. (one of my little brother's first phrases was "Shoo' ba'guys," apropos of nothing)
In conclusion, WE'RE VOTING ON TUESDAY OMG. Also turn your clocks back this weekend. And listen to Huey Lewis and the News' 'Back in Time' if you're awake Saturday night, BECAUSE IT WILL ACTUALLY BE TRUE.
The minithon is upon us once more! Minithons are for the lazy. Minithons are for the uncommitted. Minithons are for us. The minithon lasts 6 hours (10 AM to 4 PM CST), therefore making it a mini readathon, as opposed to the lovely Dewey's 24 Hour Readathon and 24in48, both of which you should participate in, but both of which are a longer commitment than this, the Busy Watching Netflix person's readathon. By 'read for six hours' what's really meant in the minithon is "read a little bit and eat a lot of snacks and post pictures of your books and your snacks, but mostly your snacks." We like to keep it a mini theme here, which mainly means justifying your books and your snacks to fit that theme. Does your book have children in it? Mini people! Does it have a dog! Mini wolf! Does it have pencils? Mini versions of graphite mines! or however you get graphite, I don't really know. I just picture toiling miners. The point is, justify it or don't
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