Reading as Boredom and Paranoia

A new (academic) year, a new blog, a whole new slough of reasons to bitch about the [absolute nothings] that plague my daily intellectual existence. The Fall is a time at the American university where everyone is bright-eyed, bushy-tailed, and grossly overfed on grandiose notions of self-importance designed largely to distract students, graduate and under, from the reality that we train them to be perfect little cogs in the machine. Prelude to this new semester and epilogue to a summer that seemed to linger like the walking dead, two conversations:

Conversation 1

This weekend, the Dorkmuffin and I attended the wedding of a longtime friend of hers. We were seated, thankfully, with other twenty/thirty-somethings, that is people "our age," in my case specifically next to the DM and an oceanography Ph.D. candidate from LSU... I think. Honestly, it's difficult to pay attention to the usual grad student banter: what do you study, what's your program like, how far along are you, blah blah blah. This "conversation" was particularly nausea inducing due to oceanographer's nigh unwillingness to pay attention to a single thing I said. "What do you study again?" Comparative literature. "What's English like at Michigan?" Comparative literature. "A friend of mine was in English at [who gives a fuck] and she was always saying how great it was to feel like she was on equal terms with the faculty..." Comp--actually, my program often feels like an elaborate hazing ritual. "[Something about working in a lab]" . I was more fascinated by the silent man trinket she carried about with her. Le sigh.

Conversation 2

I'm sitting in the lobby at the reception reading, because I was bored, and an eleven year old autistic girl sits don't next to me and starts to blather about books. Note: this is the beginning of a classic "Nicholas says something inappropriate and ends up offending a little girl, her parents, and at least three bystanders" scenario, so pay attention to how it actually turns out. Autistic girl asks me what kind of fantasy books I like (she had been blabbing about some teen fantasy series), I say: um, I like Don Quixote, do you know it? "What's it about?" It's about this old guy who's been reading fantasy books all his life, and as a result he goes crazy. He thinks he's a famous wandering knight, sets off on all sorts of funny and strange adventures, is eventually cured of his insanity, and dies. She pauses for a moment, a rarity with this girl, and responds, "reading really makes you crazy."

Reading really makes you crazy.

I was honestly phased; I was expecting the classic "offend a little girl" scenario. But, I manage to fire back: sure, he's crazy, but in the novel it's clear his madness was the only thing keeping him alive. Autistic girl didn't say anything else. She merely stood up and walked away lost in thought.