Bloglet, the gentleman's mock turtle soup -- Moss made it sweeter than myrrh ash and dhoup
Jeff Johnston and another Fe Johnny girl whose name, alas, I don't know, are both going to get blogs! Probably danchan ones, unless some blogmass philanthropist has any offers.
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11:35:01 AM,Monday 11 February 2002
Just read _Doomsday Book_ by Connie Willis, and liked it a helluva lot. Well written, solid science fiction, and amazing stuff about plague. Heard about it from the Alumini chick at the senior dinner, too, so I guess I owe her an eternal debt uh something.
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11:33:55 AM,Monday 11 February 2002
I've figured out how to enjoy breakfast: stay up all night! Work up an appetite! Damn, they even had good scrambled eggs with cheese. Good scrambled cafeteria eggs? With all the pain and suffering in the world, it just ain't fair.
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11:32:36 AM,Monday 11 February 2002
EURIPIDES!!!
The guy who said I looked good in a beard, my piano teacher, did his senior essay (in '96) on all the times Euripides appeared in the plays of Aristophanes. How bad-goddamn-ass is that?
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07:51:18 PM,Sunday 10 February 2002
I sort of hope it gets rejected, because then I can actually turn it into a good paper. I know you guys thought I was a slacker, but I did spend a whole lot of freaking time and pain and ass and brain trying to figure this bastard play out, and I think it might be impossible, but I sort of got one thing that's almost promising enough to try to say something about, except I couldn't find it until three days before it was due and nobody else has read this thing and I pity the bastards who have to. If it gets rejected, I'll have 'til spring break to make it good. If it doesn't, well, at least I can forget about the whole fucker until the oral and then hope the tutors aren't so disgusted about my writing that they won't even talk to me. I really wanted to write a good, strong, polished, well-thought-out senior essay. I tried, goddamnit. What could I do? I sunk my head in the freaking play for three weeks, I stayed up all night every night trying to hammer it into pieces, and I couldn't even crack one tiny thing out of it until three days before I had to write this thing. I know a lot of King Lear quotes, and I'm grateful that I have this play more completely and deeply in my head, and I'll always go back to this thing and try to understand it better, but I just hate writing? You know that? I hate essays. I hate writing fucking essays. It's not even twenty pages. It's eighteen pages and two pathetic little lines hanging on to page nineteen. It's not even like I ran out of time. I've got plenty of time. I could add pages and pages and pages, except it would all be rambling drivel that had nothing to do with nothing. It's done. I'm not going to read it again until my oral, unless it's rejected, and then I really will work on it and make it respectable. It's fatuous and inflated. It's 6,651 words. So at least I won't be torturing the bastards who have to read this thing any more than necessary. Goddamnit. I wanted to make this thing really good. Fuck it.
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09:32:55 PM,Saturday 9 February 2002
Uh-oh... I have seven pages left, 11 hours left, and I've begun to feel a bit, well, tired-ish. Uh-oh.
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02:16:50 PM,Saturday 9 February 2002
"Courage mighty wordslayer! You wank higher than any in
Wome!" -- my brother, who also sent an picture of him being nearly devoured by a barrel-chested Johnnie-dog.
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12:39:03 AM,Friday 8 February 2002
If anything could make me listen to Mahler, it's a sexy naked Czech.
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04:42:21 PM,Wednesday 6 February 2002
T.I.A.I.L.W.:Pippi Langstrømpe.
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03:59:06 PM,Wednesday 6 February 2002
Grum, grum, grum.
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10:31:25 AM,Wednesday 6 February 2002
Well, I've been here for 22 hours. My butt hurts. Gotta go teach practica now. {sigh} I'll be back.
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05:58:21 PM,Tuesday 5 February 2002
Naw, I'll take a shower. It's just a sweet thing to have a shower a short gallivant away from the computer lab. Makes me feel less the slacker.
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10:57:08 AM,Tuesday 5 February 2002
You are getting very sleeeepy... your eyelids are drooping, drooping... you will close your eyes gently, and when I have counted to eight, you will suddenly slump over the keyboard like a tsetse victim. When I choose, in my devious, fickle way, to wake you up again, you will not have written any more on your paper than you have now. Ah-ha. AH-ha. AHaHaHaHaHaHaHa! {organ sting}
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10:22:17 AM,Tuesday 5 February 2002
