I feel like such a grad student right now. I'm sitting in a coffee house near campus, sipping on a capuccino (Note to self: Christ does this taste awful. Did they use espresso in this thing, or robitussin? Next time we have the chance, please explain to me, meaning you, why the fuck we started drinking coffee.) (As a side note: I often write notes to myself as though I'm addressing someone else. The way I see it, whenever I circle back to read a note, I'll have had some additional set of experiences that alter my persona on some level relative to when I wrote the note. So, really, when I address my future self I am addressing someone other than me. I find this to be a strikingly useful way to go about it, even if it does make my prelim exam notes rather amusing in spots. But I digress...) listening to Veruca Salt and trying to write a lecture. It's like I deliberately set out to reinforce stereotypes or something. On the positive side: I'm sitting around in an old t-shirt I got for signing up for a credit card (well, more accurately, for signing Karl Marx up for a credit card) and a pair of pants that I've fixed with a needle-and-thread more than once. This is a definite step up from the black turtleneck/berret I suppose I ought to be wearing.
Just so long as nobody comes up and tries to talk about Plato or fucking Nietzsche, I ought to be able to restrain my self-revulsion.