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Well, I managed to conclude the conclusion in a temporarily satisfactory way, despite the deafening roar of absolute silence on your end. Okay, point taken. I’ll do my own work. Sigh.

Having done so, and not being quite ready to begin the introduction last night, I instead took some time to poke around this web thing a bit, and stumbled upon a reader review of David Foster Wallace’s Up, Simba! that just tickled me to no end. Go read it. It’s the first review.

Oh, heck, I’ll even give you the part that tickled me:

He teaches at Disneyland, is what I last heard, which may be why I likened his genius to the size of one of those parks.

I’ve decided that it is in the vital interest of the academy’s future to take over the spaces of defunct amusement parks. Classes could be tailored to their environs: poststructuralist theory to be taught on the rollercoaster; the first half of the American lit survey on the log ride; senior seminars in the spinning teacups. And, of course, all creative writing classes will be held in the funhouse.


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