Happy Bloomsday

Today of course is Bloomsday, which is great cause that means there's an entire day set aside to remind me of another book I've never read. But I did read Portrait of the Artist, and I found a paper I had written back in college ("back" in college...as if it's even possible I'm anywhere near college age. grrr) on the pandybat incident. I got an A on it, tho in re-reading it right now I'm once again lead to think "how the fuck did I even get in to college, much less graduate?" Even worse, I'm reading the professor's comments and, since my brain has spent the last decade+ as a dust bunny under somebody's bed, I have no idea what he's even saying.

This is well done, especially as you zero in on one scene seen three different ways. I think the names for these three approaches are biographical, historical and formalist/New Critical. (In a few weeks, just to make life more difficult, we'll introduce "New Historical" criticism, which blends all three!) In general, "criticism," "analysis," or "reading" are better terms than "critiquing."

What the fuck. Also, as I'm reading it now, what the fuck kinda school did I go to where the professor writes that he "thinks" the three approaches are called what they are? Wtf? Or that he wrote "scene" and "seen" back to back. Or that he gleefully writes about something we're gonna talk about in a few weeks, complete with exclamation point. Or that his hand could've trembled so much the first time it laid on the small of my back as he pulled me onto himself. Fucking christ.