College Street For Broken Hearts
Easter Eggs: "Yale" in panel 1. #PFF. Fb01 and my trusty backpack. CT Lame-o makes leaving Yale even suckier. Today's setting is Phelps Gate on College Street, just down the street from the Comp Lit Department's HQ, which is literally where millionaires hang out.
Fun Facts: College Street is where I entered Yale campus on my very first move-in day. College Street is where I exited my Yale career on my very last thesis turn-in day.
Judith Butler did actually did give a talk at Yale some time after she had appeared on our syllabus. Our lit theory Teaching Fellow mused that we could go and ask her questions directly so we could hopefully finally understand at least some parts of our invariably incomprehensible reading. And today's pun of a punchline invariably popped up while fantasizing what it would be like to actually have lucid answers to questions that don't really matter.
Baa: I haven't the stomach for lit theory, but one of my sectionmates seemed really gung-ho about it all, week in and week out. In fact, it seemed like I was the only person who wasn't in love with the idea of studying what ancient white people thought about what other ancient white people thought about what ancient dead white people wrote about, meanwhile young dark people were starving and dying daily. I felt like such a waste of being at every single lit lecture and section as we studied such utterly useless things. But here I am doing art and not contributing to improving the world directly, right?
I only hope I can make a difference later in life with the steps I'm taking at present, to some day be in a position to truly help people. It is my sincere hope not to embody the sheer luxury of lit theory. I turn my nose up at lit theory while doing art because at least art can have some tangible impact on other people--there's the shred of that hope, at least--but postulating what de Man would think about what Bloom thinks about Tennyson...that can only ever benefit those who clearly do not need further benefit.
Cringing just thinking back about this stuff.