Apparently my blog posts are coming in pairs this month.
I have one idea for a post - post it and POOF, another thing to randomly complain about drifts through my head.
I want a binding machine. For those of you who don't know what this is, it is one of those amazing devices with strange spikes on the top that puts papers into those little plastic comb things that get stuck to everything (wow was that non-descriptive, that's like saying a cat is an animal with these ear things, that likes to bite things and has fur). Well, you'll just have to ignore me if you don't know what this is.
I am convinced (for no apparent reason) that my life could be totally organized, perfect, and pristine, if only I had a binding machine. Being a grad student I tend to collect randomly large amounts of photocopied material every quarter and I could TOTALLY bind all of that together into neat little stacks based on author or subject or something and thus not have to sort through a huge stack of Bourdieu in order to find those 3 pages of Foucault that I really need. The creation of this initial bound masterpiece of organization out of my current piles of paper will take approximately a billion years. I know that it is just the very anal person inside of me that likes office supplies and shiny folders who wants this machine - and that I will eventually lose interest in it like oh-so-many toys before, but I just can't get it out of my mind.
Just think of it: Gleaming reams of paper, neatly bound into little books of information. Everything labeled and organized. An entire bound set of my photocopies of obscure "language of flowers" texts printed from microform. A bound copy of all the information relating to gift-giving practices in the 1800's. A bound analysis of grave marking practices in the 19th century. I would be a binding god.
In rereading this entry, I believe that I have just produced the best evidence possible for OCD. Hopefully this is just end of the quarter nonsense.
And the Binding combs come in 5 COLORS! Yipee!
I want a binding machine. For those of you who don't know what this is, it is one of those amazing devices with strange spikes on the top that puts papers into those little plastic comb things that get stuck to everything (wow was that non-descriptive, that's like saying a cat is an animal with these ear things, that likes to bite things and has fur). Well, you'll just have to ignore me if you don't know what this is.
I am convinced (for no apparent reason) that my life could be totally organized, perfect, and pristine, if only I had a binding machine. Being a grad student I tend to collect randomly large amounts of photocopied material every quarter and I could TOTALLY bind all of that together into neat little stacks based on author or subject or something and thus not have to sort through a huge stack of Bourdieu in order to find those 3 pages of Foucault that I really need. The creation of this initial bound masterpiece of organization out of my current piles of paper will take approximately a billion years. I know that it is just the very anal person inside of me that likes office supplies and shiny folders who wants this machine - and that I will eventually lose interest in it like oh-so-many toys before, but I just can't get it out of my mind.
Just think of it: Gleaming reams of paper, neatly bound into little books of information. Everything labeled and organized. An entire bound set of my photocopies of obscure "language of flowers" texts printed from microform. A bound copy of all the information relating to gift-giving practices in the 1800's. A bound analysis of grave marking practices in the 19th century. I would be a binding god.
In rereading this entry, I believe that I have just produced the best evidence possible for OCD. Hopefully this is just end of the quarter nonsense.
And the Binding combs come in 5 COLORS! Yipee!
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