I don’t like learning about the French anymore. And, also, I might be kind of stupid.
Possibly I shall quit my Ph.D. program and become a busker on Venice beach. Possibly a player of flaming ukuleles.* Possibly, possibly.
*If you had been with me and Tanya on Venice beach a couple of weeks ago, you, too, would have been subjected to lengthy descriptions of my consternation towards what I perceive as a decline the overall quality of street performing. Playing some reggae and making your five year old dance to it is not good street performance. Standing on a ladder waving around a couple of wooden snakes is not good street performance. If they had been real cobras, then yes. If they had been flaming wooden snakes, then yes. If they had been robot cobras, then hells yes, because that is kind of like Bladerunner, and, who knows? Those replicant snakes might have minds of their own! For street performance to be truly actually good, there must be some risk to the safety of either or both the performer and the audience. That man with the piano on the beach? That’s pretty good, I’d say, because he could have, like, thrown out his back getting that baby grand to the boardwalk. In sum, to be a successful ukulele street performer, the ukulele would have to be on fire.