IRISH KAFKA FOOT BUDDHA = title.

I was going to hit you guys with a bunch of pictures I took of my parents, but then I don’t know if that’s like internet-ethical, or whatever.  Everything is so complicated on this mass of wires and electricity and light transfusions.  Seriously. But if you want to see them, if you’re smart enough and can find my flickr page, I won’t stop you from gazing at their adoring Russian-jawed faces there.  (Hint: don’t be silly, Russians don’t give hints. GOTCHA!)

Today I took out 3 books from the library, and none of them are ones I actually went to the library for (A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, The Power of Now, Autobiography of a Yogi).  (If it seems like I’m curious about Buddhism, I’m not, but I talked to this random man at work the other day and said something about bitterness and he was so happy and mentioned these books to me, and who am I to say no to a book that has the word ‘yogi’ in it? Plus, oh yeah, did I mention? I’m curious about Buddhism).

I am a giant COCK-A-ROACH-A!

But I saw this tiny little book by Franz Kafka called Metamorphosis that caught my eye because firstly, it’s tiny and with very bold writing on it (yes, cover, book, judging), but also, I want to be as cool as all the other people that read Kafka (who I have decided 20 pages into the book are CRAZY or on serious hallucinogens), and I love the trope of metamorphosis.  Last year at U of T I totally read Ovid’s version of Metamorphosis, which is mad original in the whole genre and all.  He practically put all Greek myths to paper.  So much rape there though, wow. You’d be surprised, if you… read.. old.. Greek poets.

ANYWAY.

CLICK ME.

This isn’t what I meant by “metamorphosis”, stupid Google.  And fuck Hilary Duff for ruining the coolest Greek shit I’ve ever read.

Next book I got was Sula by Toni Morrisson.  And I totally read Morrison’s Song of Solomon this year for my class and totally loved her storytelling.  So, I decided that along with that, and the fact that, you know, it won the Nobel Prize, it might be up to my very pretentious book-picking snuff.

Gerard Butlerr.... rrrrr... in Ireland.... rrrr... in P.S. I Love You... rrrrr....

And the last book is a random, because I couldn’t find any last names on the shelves that I knew (um, Markham Library.. whaddup with that?)  by Tim Winton.  It looks super dark and demented, but I kind of like them like that (if you’ve read Kafka, you must be at least a little twisted)***… plus something something, but it said Irish on the back, and since I work in a bar I’ve become very fond of the Irish.  (Also because of PS I Love You, and Gerard Butler, and Craig Ferguson, and all the hothot actors from there, and the lead singer of The Script…who is totes delicious in that kind of boy band way ) but really, just because it’s a beautiful country?  With a rich heritage?  … I like Catholics.  And JAMES JOYCE! He was Irish.

Yes.

Here’s some flowers. And feet. OF MY PARENTS. I get too intense for you guys sometimes, I know this.

Love you all – the boyfriend is getting surgery tomorrow, wish him luck, why don’tcha!?

Other than that… boourns. I’m off to either watch complete trash on the net or read something possibly horrifying. I hope that’s how most of your nights go too.

-Arina

*** My first pretentious Kafka reference! AND ALL IN ONE POST. Too much. Too. Damn. Much.

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