A while ago I was reading a lot of these 19th century novels of various sorts -- Madame Bovary, Bros. Karamazov, Moby Dick (though that's less important to my current point), and it reminded me of something I always notice about novels from before the modern era: they really talk about money, and housekeeping, and personal finances, in these
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hey! how are you?
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Let's totally do that.
I've been unemployed and wrapped up in books and too lazy to hang out with people, and you came at a perfect time for me to be in the mood to get off my ass and have ARGUMENTATIVE PITCHERS.
Email me at my yale address, which for some bureaucratic reason i've still got, and let's make this happen.
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Also, Fear of Falling is at the New Haven library, and I'll pick it up tomorrow. Also, that library doesn't have Commodify your Dissent but does have Boob Jubilee. Is that worth reading?
Also also, YES the fascination with the middle-class dropout at the expense of the unwillingly marginalized has been an issue with the counterculture for a long time; I remember, in my avant-jazz class, reading black authors (i think including Amiri Baraka) just tear into the Beats for ripping off a bunch of cultural responses to oppression and treating them like only the outward form mattered.
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