So I was observed today teaching Frankenstein, which is one of the books I know the best. Of course, I totally choked. Lord have mercy on my immortal soul. Why is it I can only perform when no one cares? Man, I love teaching literature and deeply hope I was far more impressive than I fear. I really need kind thoughts so you know send them because at this moment this job is all I have. No boyfriend. I don't get to go home to the reassurance of a lover or these days even a friend. I go home to a cat who I know is going to jump on my kidneys and get white cat hair all over my soaked courduroys. All the enjoyment I get these days is from teaching these little monchichis about great works of literature. Without that, all I am is an idiot attempting to teach would be business people how to write investor letters.

In other news, Kurt Vonnegut is dead. I am going to write a post about it I swear. If you remember, the summer the first love of my life broke up with me I read every book Vonnegut ever wrote save one. I saved one for when he died, so there would be a book of his I hadn't read yet. He did go onto to write other books, some I've read, others I haven't. So I still have some novels he wrote to look forward to as well as revisiting some old classics (Harrison Bergeron, Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, EPICAC). My taste in terms of satire evolved in college, and I found myself attracted to writers like Aldous Huxley, Will Self, Martin Amis, and George Saunders. Still Vonnegut wrote one of my favorite light satires of all time The Sirens of Titan-in which he wrote about the Church of God the Apathetic (he exists, he just doesn't care) and posited that there is no human being above the need of unconditional love.

As I said, I shall be writing about this in more detail, but for me his death is a real blow. I'm not being a drama queen here. It's really like losing a childhood friend. (For those who feel similarly, you might want to check out the metafilter discussion which is currently over 500 comments.) One of the commenters suggested giving a Vonnegut book to someone who hasn't read his stuff before as a tribute. I'm all for that so if you need a copy of Mother Night, Welcome to the Monkey House, or The Sirens of Titan, let me know.

If it makes you feel better Kurt, you were one of the few writers that I outgrew, for the most part, but kept my good feelings about. John Irving, he wishes he could say the same. But something about Kurt, don't know what it is, I always have good feelings about you. If I had the time, I'd go home right now curl up with my copy of the Sirens of Titan.

And so I leave you, Kurt, with the same message that Salo wasted his life delivering to the people of Earth:


.

Labels: my joyless life, vonnegut