Update Update (Geaux Tigers, Go Habs Go, Who Dat Edition)

Quite a weekend for my sports teams: LSU won in convincing fashion, the Saints had a huge comeback against the Dolphins (despite three TDs from former Saint and Mater P protege Ricky Williams, no less), and the Canadiens even managed to put together an overtime win against the NY Rangers. Nice work, everyone!

I figured some sort of life-updated was in order. I’ve started grad school and am maybe kinda sorta becoming acquainted with the idea of reading 400 pages per week (per class, no less). I’m TA’ing a course in early British Literature, which essentially means that I’m a knowledge conduit between the prof and twenty-six undergrads who I fear rely way, way too much on me for help (I have to explain to them every week that they should take every single thing I say about literature with a grain of salt, and their essays seem to suggest that they’re wise enough to take that advice).

I’ve not had much time to write, ironically, because I’ve had to read like a madman, but I did get to take a class with George Saunders, who is among my two or three favorite writers in the world. He was gracious, humble, and funny as all get-out. Check out his story “Victory Lap”, which he read Friday night, here, and try to picture a middle-aged man with a goatee doing the voice of the fifteen year-old girl. All that aside, it was a blessing to get to spend some time with a man of such overwhelming brilliance who really doesn’t seem to think that intellectualism is all it’s cracked up to be. “When my first book of stories was reviewed,” he told us, “I had to look up the word dystopia.”

I also got to fly home two weeks ago to attend the abysmal LSU-Florida game (I haven’t seen us win in Tiger Stadium since the 2007 Louisiana Tech game) and, more importantly, to celebrate my upcoming wedding to the lovely Rachelle Sartini. We had a great party in Broussard, LA, near my mom’s house, and Rachelle’s mom and brother drove down from Michigan just to attend. Got to see tons of friends I hadn’t seen in way too long, which was a pleasure and a blessing and all good things.

Musically, I’ve been spinning the new Big Boi song, “Shine Blockas”, over and over and over. I’ve got no real clue what he’s rapping about, but the melody and flow is hypnotic; consider it this year’s “Whatever You Like,” though to compare TI to Big Boi is a bit like comparing Jordan Jefferson’s game against Auburn to, say, Brett Favre’s virtuoso performance the night after his dad passed away. It’s not even the same league.

I still think that the Constantines are the most underrated band of the decade.

I also ate at La Louisiane, which you may have noticed the picture of a couple of posts ago. It was decent–excellent hush puppies by anyone’s standards, but no Abita beer. The odd thing, though, was the gumbo: it was thick like mud with little rice and huge chunks of bell pepper floating in it, really more of a stew than anything else. Still, a gumbo’s a gumbo, even when it’s not, and I’ll take tastes of home wherever I can get ’em.

Overall, Montreal is good, but it’s lonely, too, and I’m ready for November 7th to get here. Not soon enough. Well, maybe Soon Enough.


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