(no subject)

Um um so guys. If one were to hypothetically have accidentally set something on fire in one's kitchen. Say... a plastic chopping board. Are melted plastic fumes harmful in any way?

I won't fuck us over, I'm Mister November

My flist has been exploding for the last few hours - well, since like four am this morning - well, all week, honestly. Well... okay, the USA has the longest and loudest election campaigns ever, but today. Today my flist has been INUNDATED both by Americans and otherwise, but have I joined in the kerfuffle? Nay, I have not, for I had a 2500 word essay to finish by this afternoon which I started... well, let me tell you, you don't wanna know how late I started it. I had to do a semiotic analysis of a song, which, as far as I can tell, differs from a regular analysis only in that certain keywords must be used and Roland Barthes namechecked a lot. (Next up for Friday, postmodernism essay in which certain keywords must be used and Michel Foucault namechecked a lot. Joy.)

The upshot of which is that I have had The Mountain Goats' "Lovecraft in Brooklyn" playing on repeat for about twenty four hours, and my desk is covered with big hardbacks proclaiming "signification ablaze" at me in gold lettering, and my back hurts, and I had to look up what a mason jar is on wikipedia. BUT I AM DONE. FINISHED. FINITO. What's more, I'm actually PROUD of this essay. I think, knock on wood, I think it's GOOD. I haven't felt that way about a piece of academic writing in years.

Coincidentally, the same could be said of U.S. elections. Good work, you guys, and congratulations.