Buying a house seems to mean losing the ability to read anymore. Or perhaps buying a house with no kitchen and no working bathroom and no heating and bad electricity and leaking gas lines and leaking plumbing means one no longer has the time to read anything beyond endless websites on price pfister products. Spent most of last two weekends in hardware stores. When not on web looking at things to buy to get house into working order, I'm scrambling to get this prose thing finished. I was a peer reviewer on a couple of manuscripts also so that took up some time.
Finally finished Sianne Ngai's Ugly Feelings. Adore the chapter on "stuplimity." Could there be a better word?
And tonight, instead of going to the Constant Gardner, read Art and Feminism edited by Helena Reckitt and Peggy Phelan and felt optimistic and sad.