I have two writing projects set for the fall. I have sketched both of them out in some detail.
The first is my longstanding paper on Origen and Augustine, which feels like the most scholarly idea I’ve had. I may not finish it by Xmas. If, so that’s ok; I want to do this one right and if that means the spring, then so be it.
The second is an old idea whose time has finally come: termination letters. This piece has been delayed more times than I could count. It was my master’s thesis in 2005 – yes, that old. I don’t have the patience to do a survey of usage again, so I’m going to do an ethics piece. I figure that cuts to the quick anyway – the exact form of the letter or frequency sent, which would be revealed by a survey, doesn’t answer the questions I’m interested in – namely, whether they should be sent, and what form they should take if yes.
Vacation is over. It’s fun to see relatives, but all the driving is too much. As such, I’m looking forward to the invention of the teleporter. I wouldn’t mind the destruction of my atoms and a virtual replacement if it would lead to increased vacation efficiency.
I didn’t do as much gaming as I thought I would. Most of it was Gran Turismo 5, which is a gorgeous if slightly frustrating PS3 title that has a very strange implementation of car damage – there isn’t any until you’ve progressed very far into the game. My slam-and-bounce method of getting around crowded turns seems tailor-made for such an strategic oversight. I’m also trying to work through some action titles that I missed in my lengthy exile from console gaming, including Infamous and God of War, and to actually learn the controls for Mortal Kombat.
Still, there is something missing. Console titles are fun but there’s not much depth to them. I like stat-driven games. This is why I picked up a up-to-date copy of Europa Universalis III from Steam, and plan to play through the expansions to Fallout: New Vegas, now that three of them are out. I await the new Deus Ex game.
Moving is also over. H and I performed the Herculean feat of moving, with a little help, about ten miles closer to work, which translates to a 12-20 minute commute instead of a 35-45 minute one. The resulting self-inventory has made us realize that we simply have too much stuff. We are not hoarders. No. But I’m looking at a garage filled with boxes and wondering exactly what the dividing line is.