Dawgs, you peep the latest "Spirit of Place" Nepenthes editorial? Shit makes me want to go back to school, get my PhD and become an associate professor at a small liberal arts school somewhere pastoral as fuck—most likely northern Connecticut or eastern Wisconsin or, like, somewhere in Maine or Vermont or something. I'd wear threadbare wool jackets and layers of cardigans and vests with a strange assortment of hats and footwear. I'd probably have a walking stick because walking sticks are cooler than canes when you're an academic that isn't quite old enough to justify a cane, ya know? I'd have the dopest wine and cheese nights at the amazing stone cottage I live in that's about 15 minutes off campus and has floor to ceiling bookshelves, a wood burning fireplace and an ancient dog that just posts up on a Persian rug all day. My crib would smell like loud and that's when you'd realize that a life of academia is the way to true happiness. Also, in order to survive a place like Maine, while teaching rich kids about the categorical imperative, you need a lot of really strong homegrown, feel me?
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