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Stephen Deadalus is my Homeboy

First of all, congratulations to Mr. David Delgado. After two weeks of constantly pestering him, he FINALLY caved in and updated his blog. Was it a good entry? Not necessarily. Was it an update? You bet your sweet bippy it was. Thanks to everyone who joined the "Update or Die" forces. We couldn't have done it without your support and prayers. The battle is over, my friends. MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.

Secondly, I'd like to give a very important shout out. I use this individual on an everyday basis, but he never gets the appreciation he deserves. He's another Hawkman or Count Chocula. No respect.
I'm talking, of course, about the Ideal Gas Law.
Can you imagine all of the pieces of information that you can derive from this formula? Pressure? Volume? NUMBER OF MOLES??!?! It's astounding. It boggles the mind how much the Ideal Gas Law tells you.
However, what I appreciate the most about it is that it's IDEAL. It's not imperfect. The law, in theory, only works within a vacuum. While this fact doesn't help things very much (unless, of course, you happen to live in a vacuum. In which case, keep up the good work. You're the bane of every Chemistry/Physics student's life) but think about what that implies: This law is a romantic. He wants things to be perfect. While some pessimists would account for wind resistance or gravity. Simliar to Holden or Gatsby, he's an idealist. He'll factor in temperature and pressure, sure. But he'll leave the rest up to chance. The Law lives by a self correcting universe. He doesn't worry about too much. Ideal.
I think that every one of us can learn a thing or two from the Ideal Gas Law.


So, there's not too much going on in my life. Actually, there is. I just don't think that a) it warrants a blog entry or b) it's slightly too personal about which to write. I could go off on some sort of modernist spiel about finding the remarkable in the banal. But I'll spare you.
This sort of relates to tonight's Ath dinner for my Lit10 class. I've noticed that throughout the X number of weeks we've had class, a decent discussion has been lacking. I wasn't sure if it was the subject matter, the professor, the students, or if I was just expecting something more profound from a college Lit course. Well, tonight's dinner was 90 minutes of the same. A little light conversation. People laughing at their own jokes. Ashton being his normally amazing self. And throughout all of this, I hardly said anything. As a matter of fact, I wrote this blog entry in my head during all of the awkward silences. Yep. Silences so thick that you could cut them with a fork. I know that I have something to say. I'm positive of it. So why doesn't it come out whenever I'm surrounded by Professor Jaurretche? Is she some sort of linguistic kryptonite to my verbal Kal-El? It seems like it's hard for people to be themselves in these situations.
MAYBE, she's trying to prove a point about modernism and Joyce. Perhaps our conversations and discussions are purposely boring so that we're forced to find the amazing qualities of everyday life. Could it be that her class isn't an exercise in boredom but a giant trap that she has been setting since day one?


Nope. Odds are it's just boring.



Dublin 1904
Trieste 1914

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