1. I threw my sister a baby shower, 2. I turned 24, 3. I went to Puerto Rico, 4. 2008 Happened, 5. My sister had her kid, 6. I made Lemon Bars tonight but they kinda sucked

Sorry all, but much like Britney Spears, I needed a mental vacation.

P.S. I don’t know why it’s taking me so long to finish Obama’s book, but it’s probably the same reason why it’s taking me so long to figure out who to vote for or to learn much more about history.

Out by Japanese author Natsuo Kirino is so perverse, so disturbing, so sexually violent that it’s hard to believe it was written by a woman. But gender assumptions in Japan is precisely the topic (among an array of far more unpleasant issues) that Kirino addresses in her novel.

Masako Katori, a resourceful woman of wit and poise, is only a shell of a woman she once was. After being under appreciated and exploited as an accountant in an office run by men, Katori takes a job at a lunch box factory working unimaginable grueling night shifts. When a coworker at the factory murders her husband, Katori takes charge of disposing the body by cutting it up into pieces and depositing them throughout the city.

But what seems truly heinous in Out are the conditions that influence the women in this novel to live in robotic obligation towards their homes, families and workplaces. They are ignored by their husbands, mistreated by their own children and even dismissed by the police after a brief, cursory investigation into the crime.

Out is a difficult novel to understand. Book reviews printed on the paperback reprint edition claim Out is “pitch-black comedy” though I imagine much of the comedic tone gets lost in translation. While I’m sure many readers (myself included) may find the sexual themes of rape and violence far from funny, there is something tragically comedic about a man and a woman who can only feel love when they loathe each other. Out is a difficult novel to understand and a difficult one to read without a strong stomach but it is definitely worth the try.

As you can see, Shibooya is now very pink. I don’t care if you don’t like it. I think it’s rather slimming.

Just last week I began my Fall semester and to compensate, I’ve somehow miniaturized my entire life into a very adorable (and also pink) planner that I bought recently from Target. Without it, I wouldn’t know when to go to class or carry on normal bodily functions - 11:48pm expel all body waste before bedtime. In fact, I think I have a hard time realizing that I’m even in school if it wasn’t for the written reminder - 6:00m LEARNING TIME .

My professor of my course, Critical Approaches to Postmodern Culture, has instructed the class to post reading responses in the appropriately titled blog, Postmodern Culture. On it you’ll find very involved but very enthralling insights from my fellow classmates on just how mind-boggling the concepts of Roland Barthes and Ferdinand de Saussure actually are. For the most part, I don’t really know what’s going on, which is strange considering my generation is a postmodern one. You can find my entries under the initials MC and particpate in the discussion through comments (i.e. comment on how utterly FANTASTIC my opinions are). My professor has assured us that after we’ve successfully passed the course, we’ll never be able to enjoy television or other forms of media in the same way again. Our newly found critical postmodern concepts will transform everything we see on TV and online. I doubt it. Nothing can change my viewings of Charmed.

I finished reading Sarah Vowell’s book, The Partly Cloudy Patriot, and really enjoyed her witty, if Daria-esque, sense of humor. I’m still struggling through A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby, my first novel from the guy. I’ve seen some of his movies and understand that writing unlikeable characters is his trademark but I find the foursome in A Long Way Down to be so self-serving and aggravating that I’m really hoping they’ll all decide on suicide.