weekends are pretty slow

I haven't done much today besides read two chapters from Female Masculinity (1998), nap for two hours because I am in pain (fuckin' period), cook (or rather heat up in a frying pan) burgers even though I ate only one, and watch Quills (2000). I wrote Louis a letter and I plan to read about Spanish television in preparation for my Spanish cultural studies class on Tuesday. Thank god we're moving on from flamenco. It's so boring and it all sounds and looks the same. I don't understand it, I admit that, but I do respect it as an art form. Please just don't expect me to see a performance if and when I go to Barcelona, one of the few places outside of Andalusia that takes flamenco seriously because most Spaniards could give a shit. This is fascinating: how something so specifically bound culturally and regionally ends up being such iconography for the entirety of the country. It's all Franco's fault.

Tomorrow I will read a play called Six Characters in Search of an Author (1921) by Luigi Pirandello as part of my European modernist literature course. It probably will be our most challenging text, but it sounds really interesting and postmodern, if you ask me: six characters are incomplete. The author hasn't fully fleshed them out, but they watch as actors rehearse the play that is based on their lives. They beg to be a part of a dialogue about what is going on. Authorship. Authenticity. Big issues. Big issues! (Please.)

Boredom. Last night, I tried to link all 206 DVDs in my collection to each other, in a sort of chain. I think I only linked about 50 before giving up and just concentrating on "couplets" or "triplets." What a useless and mind-numbing enterprise, but what else was I supposed to do?