Why the modern art was great after all.

Today, my German teacher said, remarking on my two-week long absence:

“Oh, Frau Sendaianonymous, Sie wurden vermisst!”

To which I thought:

“Yes, ’cause there was nobody to do the awful interpreter work to facilitate, or in fact make possible the communication between you and the poor Japanese students, who can’t even say ‘ich weiss nicht’ without making two separate grammatical mistakes.”

But I didn’t say it out loud, because:

1. I genuinely like the German teacher a lot,

2. She brought us an absolutely fab fab fab vid from Goethe Institut Tokyo, which apparently was insanely difficult to procure, and apparently we got lucky lucky lucky, ’cause you normally can’t watch it anywhere or something.

The vid, it was about Guenther Uecker‘s performances!

Insta-inspiration!

Lol, this.

Therefore, I give you:

A doomed to failure tragic tragic tragic love between a cockroach and a grasshopper

Midnight madness

What I’m doing is: writing a bloody 感想文　about this. Words cannot express the humiliation.

(As if it weren’t enough that I was actually made to sing that. At least other people had to suffer too and suffer through my singing, ahahahaha.)

Random fact:  my name in Chinese is written 萨拉. The first sign means “boddhisatva”, the second one, among other things, “Latin” and “kidnap”. The best thing, though, is that 拉萨 is “Lhasa”. Fun stuff!

Back to the bloody fucking 感想文.

…

The Uchuujin Movie’s almost done. There are photos.

I meant to talk about sanitary napkins and the Japanese’s ridiculous habit of wrapping them up in several layers of toilet paper-like wrapping stuff, which is ridiculous, because, yeah, I get it that they do it so that nobody sees that you bought some sanitary napkins YOU DISGUSTING MENSTRUATING WOMAN PERSON, but! Since the only thing they actually wrap up like that are the sanitary napkins, isn’t it a bit pointless? I mean, look! Wrapped up stuff! SOMEBODY MUST HAVE BOUGHT SANITARY NAAAAAAPKINS HERE! So. This is totally what I meant to write about, but the photo with which I meant to illustrate my point is lost somewhere in the deep recesses of my hard drive, so maybe tomorrow. Maybe.

In other news, this week’s linkses!

130 000 inflatable boobs at sea.

Kitschmas (I like the Hebrew keychain thing though)

Worst book ever

Happy Squidmas!

Santa will take you to hell! (Yes, please)

Oh, oh, gotta go, gotta go to have my pathetic semblance of a social life! Will write something totally smart and coherent later. Maybe.

PS!

Well, zombified is zombified, and thus I totally forgot to thank my beloved beloved mummy and her magic magic credit card for the amazon stuff that arrived yesterday, and this book? Is possibly the best thing ever. I mean. Dead Toddlers In The Privy! Victorian Depravity! Statistics! Research!

(Sadly, what really really makes me hot is, predictably, the statistics)
And, now I want this book, too. MUMMYYYYYY!

Black Books is fun, too.

Also, some of my anonymous, anonymous photos are up here.

Also, on Friday? The weather had been perfect, until I had to go back home. By bike. Up a (suddenly) slippery slippery slope. While it was raining. Heavily. OPPRESSION! OPPRESSION!

Down with that sort of rain! Carefully!

So, I’ve been thinking ♥ ♥ ♥

Lately, I’ve been busy pining pining PINING, so I can’t sleep been having trouble falling asleep. Apparently there isn’t much I can do  about that, save for getting used to my new shiny shiny zombified state. NOT.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking how Freud, Marx and Nietsche are supposed to be the greatest thinkers of 20th century. Well, rubbish.

See, they’re just popular; they’re the philosophical equivalent of Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera and Avril Lavigne*. Just as likely as a thirteen year-old girl might be found humming Toxic on the bus on her way to school, a typically mentally deficient anthropologist might be found quoting The Ego and the Id to support his or hers typically misguided and poorly documented theories.

Who really matters is: Walter Benjamin (he’s like Billie Holiday doing Christina Aguilera’s covers) Karl Popper (you may agree with him or not, but in terms of practical applicability I really do not think his theory of potential falsifiability has any serious rivals), and Jean-Paul Sartre.

Now excuse me, I have to feel really really smug for a couple of hours.

Ahahaha!

*Freud being of course Britney.