Me: *reads 1984*
Me: *oh no, a big scary thought pleezeman has punched Julia in the solar plexus!*

[[later]]

Dwee: *brush brush brush*
Me: *scrub a dub dub*
Curtain: *hey look, I exist, therefore it’s G rated!*

Me: Dwee, where’s your solar plexus?
Dwee: *has anatomy/physical therapist science class finals coming up* Is that a body part?
Me: *nod*
Curtain: *exists*
Me: yeah, it is.
Dwee: Why do you want to know?
Me: Well, just in case someone punches me in the solar plexus, I’d like to be able to drive myself down to the ER and go, “Doctor, someone has impacted my solar plexus, causing me immense pain. Would you please make haste in rectifying my solar plexus?”


Haha. 1984 took me all of two days to read and understand. It basically says something with subtlety, then spells it out for you at the end of the page. On the other hand, Heart of Darkness has only recently seeped through my semipermeable skull.

This weekend, I also read Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, by Douglas Adams. Motive behind it was that little questionaire from the Guidance Dept. asking how many books we’ve read for pleasure in the past year, to which I wrote, “fewer than ten.” Heh.

Anyway, the book happened to be the second science-math-murder-in-England novel involving cellists that I’ve read. Odd, isn’t it? The other was The Oxford Murders. It happened to imply that Bach was god. Hehehe. Because of my haste in reading (and frequent distraction by the jug of salty salty salty delicious cashews o’er yonder), I didn’t really catch the plot, but it was funny with a touch of Victorian melancholy all at the same time.

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One thought on “

  1. Hahahahaha. That first part made me laugh like you wouldn’t believe.
    It’s so strange reading 1984 after reading Heart of Darkness. I keep waiting for it to get confusing and difficult to understand, but that has yet to happen.

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