June 14, 2009

So eggs aren't the meaning of life?

"There had been mornings when, awakening with rays of sunlight on her face, she had thought that she must hurry to Hammond's Market to get fresh eggs for breakfast; then, recapturing full consciousness, seeing the haze of New York beyond the window of her bedroom, she had felt a tearing stab, like a touch of death, the touch of rejecting reality."
--Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand
How can the thought of fresh eggs for breakfast not be enough to kick one out of one's depression? Just kidding. I get it. The thing is, Atlas Shrugged kind of makes you hate lazy human beings (including yourself, if applicable). On the other hand, it's sort of inspiring, in a tough love kind of way. Not to mention that it's kind of a sizzler.

On a side note, at graduation today, I thought the head of the department said "feces" instead of "theses" (as in the plural of thesis) in his speech. Boy, was that a funny misunderstanding.

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