My tutorial went well today! The weather was the nicest, so we sat on a little bench by the Thames, and some ducks swam around and flew at each other and then one came out and smacked her bill around in a mud puddle. According to my tutor, Eliot saying that it never occurred to him that The Waste Land's Mr. Eugenides could be read as cruising for gay sex is "a typical fucking useless Eliot comment." Yessss. I am just getting over a case of the fucking black lung, and he said I had an "eighteenth-century cough." It's like he really knows me! If I lived in the eighteenth century, I would so have died of the consumption!

Afterward, I went to the bookstore and bought some books about gay people for the paper due Tuesday that I haven't started writing. One of the books tricked me. It is called Queer Theory but is mainly just racy gay smut. I am a little happy I got tricked.

And after that, I went to the American Embassy, by which I mean the place on Cornmarket Street where there is a Starbucks across the street from a McDonald's. You can stand in the middle of the road (there are no cars) and feel them stroke each other's faces with their warm rays of capitalism, and it is glorious.

I went into that Starbucks once, but it was a Mirror Dimension Starbucks. They had some normal stuff, but they also had some stuff like "iced fancies," which I could not comprehend. I am too afraid to go into the McDonald's, in case they try to pull some shit like that. The last time I went to a British McDonald's, a few years ago, they sold hot dogs. That is not really acceptable behavior from a McDonald's, so I have been wrapping up my fry-cravings and shoving them down into a little dark pit in my soul and making do with the chips at kebab vans and pubs. All I want from this life is some goddamn chemically enhanced French fries covered in salt and synthetic processed molecules of delicious. I think this is like a basic human right.