It's been a long time since I last read Stoic philosophy. I think the last work of this type that I read was the brief Handbook of Epictetus as an undergraduate. I didn't like it much. Mostly because my girlfriend at the time (who was a major repair-job) loved it. She was using the emotional detachment ideas to get over this jerk she dated before me. Nice. As a result, I thought that stoicism was just a mask that emotionally weak people wore to hide the honest and hard-earned scars on their souls.
We just finished final presentations in my classes. I teach -- community college, English & Philosophy (picked up Masters Degree #2 in Philosophy a couple years ago; this enables me to teach the love of wisdom to American CC students). I think of Sara's presentation of whether American Literature matters: it was expertly organized and focused on emotional intelligence. Sure, she picked up on a thread that I was communicatin' to them: that one of literature's practical uses is to train us emotionally.
Here's a list of what I read last year with a brief rating of each book. At the bottom of the list are some reflections the reading year.
The Diaries of Adam and Eve by Mark Twain. 4/5
Metamorphoses by Ovid (Charles Martin translation) 4.5/5
Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury. 4/5
Letters from the Earth by Mark Twain. 4.5/5
How To Read Literature Like a Professor by Thomas Forester. 4/5
Candide by Voltaire (Translated by Robert
R.I.P Vanilla, a beloved pet rat
Vanilla was an albino rat, a "fancy rat" her tag in the pet store called her. We purchased her and her fellow female friend, later named Smokey, almost one year ago.
Vanilla, being an albino, couldn't see that well. And I could recognize this trait in her. As she crawled on my lap or on the arm of the Lazy-boy recliner that I was on, she'd extend her nose along the edges to test by feel and by smell whether there was anymore
I'm nearly finished with Charles' Dickens' Hard Times -- quite an accomplishment for me. I hate Dickens. But I try to read him every year because, somehow, I feel that by not liking him (at least a little), then he wins. And I like to win. A very much lot, I do.
And here's the thing: I love Hard Times. If only I had tried to read this before Little Dorritt or A Tale of Two Cities then maybe I could have defeated my anti-Dickensian-ness much earlier. And I would have spared me from
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