Yesterday afternoon I became a paper-grading machine, cranking out grades the way those faceless workers in Fritz Lang's Metropolis crank out--well, whatever it is that big machine is intended to crank out. Misery would be my guess. At one point I read a sentence asserting that in Sunset Boulevard Norma Desmond is "self-diluted," and I had to look at the phrase for a while before I figured out what was wrong with it.
That's when it's time to stop grading. I pulled the plug on the paper-grading machine and set out to dilute myself. Hot tea works wonders on a deluded mind.
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