Rather than diving into John Austin’s How To Do Things With Words
tonight, I’m refueling. Presented on Foucault–again–tonight; that
went well. Tomorrow I carry on about Ways of Reading in an online
distance curric. for FYC–talk and talk until folks are yawning or fifteen
minutes passes, whichever comes first.
And to restore my creative groove tonight, I knew what I’d do at the moment
D. pulled the last Puffs tissue from the box here in the office: box
bot. I’m ashamed to say I can’t remember the sequence of links that
led me to this the other day (Metafilter? Slashdot? Some kind,
unattributed blogger on my roll or one degree removed?). Shameful, but I’m
filled with gratitude if it’s worth anything.
Here’s the bot. Unremarkable, perhaps, but carved, scissor notch by
scissor notch, from a drab, empty Puffs box–a box pulled empty of its puffy
softness by the whole family’s first cold in Syracuse.
You really should try one–
even especially if it
turns into something you never imagined.