Max-stravaganza

This is another post dedicated to all of the supressed memories that "Party Shuffle" brings back. I believe in Romantic literature this is called "Return of the repressed," but I could (and probably) am mistaken. "I Saw the Sign" came up today while I tried to finish up a paragraph connecting James Joyce and Modernism (which is kind of like connecting Barry Bonds and steroids or Def Leppard and Rocking). Ace of Base was kicking it old school, so I decided to put on the rest of their hits as well, e.g. Don't Turn Around, Cruel Summer, All That She Wants. And then I came to the horrifying realization...it's the same beat on all of their songs. Ace of Base only has one base line, albeit a great one, that was repeated far too often. They were the Nickelback of their day. The exact same beat. If you play the White Album backwards, you hear Paul McCartney telling you to do drugs and then he gives you the recipe for a kicking lentil stew. if you p

Well, since last we spoke I got through hell week relatively unscathed. However, at the end of the first annual Max-stravaganza, I ended up with sinuses (sinuses? sinii? Sinai?) that were more congested than the 405 during rush hour and didn't feel much like celebrating anymore. So that left me with a week of nothing to do, and without the energy to even get out of bed. So as for finals week, I've got two take homes. The first, administered by the saintly Prof. Nick Warner (*swoons*), is very managable and does a good job of demonstrating our knowledge of Neoclassic and victorian writers. The second, given to me by the exiting Prof. Richard Samuelson consists of 15 pages of mindless Civil War nonsense. Needless to say, Warner's final is pretty much my way of procrastinating and not taking care of "the thought of John C. Calhoun vs. John Quincy Adams." As I'm sure many of you are wondering, I do, in fact, have a pretty good iTunes playlist that keeps m