The French drink red wine, smoke thin cigarettes, nibble cheese, insult foreigners, wear expensive black fashion and invent lovely, depressing sayings. Take for instance Flaubert's Madame Bovary; only the French could come up with such an indurate example of ennui. Whenever I feel like a whinner, I pick up this book to improve my self esteem. She and Anna Karenina are the best wheedlers in fiction.
As I received another two rejections today, I'm realizing that book-reading, thought-thinking people aren't perceived as particularly valuable on the job market. I think that plastic-surgery would have a better return on investment than my education. If I were to have girls, I'd involve them in cheer-leading and getting A's, vastly superior, more useful pursuits to athletics and learning.
Perhaps, I'll become a plumber and mumble my favorite poetry to myself as I unclog toilets. "Life is good" is so damn American.
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