The Kid is making dinner (Spanish rice- very easy, out of a box) and lost (lost!) the grocery bag full of dinner fixins. He just spent almost 30 minutes searching the entire downstairs for the bag. Ha!
In the meantime, I have been reading the internet. All of it. My excuse is that I am supposed to be researching what the Grandmother hypothesis might tell us about modern teenage pregnancy (per my proff " That kind of ties into my Malthusian ideas" I am not sure what the hell he means by that, but he is an old hippie and tends to babble). Instead I have found that I am not the only person that thinks that Milan Kundera is a hack.
I dated a guy once who thought that Kundera was the shiznit. Of course the guy was a middling middle class academic from Eastern Europe who liked to cheat on his wife and had no respect for women, so Kundera was a kindred spirit. He also liked John Irving novels (another middling, middle class academic who thinks adultery is the height of sexual expression).
Dear Literary Gods! Please can we get over the sex lives of middle class men. They are dull beyond all recognition. Seriously. They are the Harlequin Romance Novelists of the tweed jacket set. I'd much rather read Lisa Carver.
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