Truck's fixed -- brought it back with no overheating. The next step is putting in yet another spedometer gear, in the hopes that it will not get eaten up or melt this time.

Today was quiet. I mostly continued reading For Whom The Bell Tolls, which I'm enjoying rather a lot.

Well, the last few days have been slow. We did shopping on Thursday like a pack of rabid fools, and I spent well over a hundred dollars of my OWN money (Xmas money being saved for the truck, remember) on *ugh* clothes and music -- how teenybopper of me. Still, though, I got that live Robert Earl Keen album I've been wanting (the one with the good stories, like "Robert Keen! Robert Keen! Kin y'come hep me fo'minute!"), some Paolo Conte (The Italian Tom Waits), and that Kristin Chenoweth, whom I liked hearing on the radio.

Dad and I will be going out today, hopefully to buy and replace the radiator on my truck. When I called yesterday, everything was fine until I asked the guy if he had the coolant tubes for an automatic, and he looked at me (over the phone) like I was an idiot and said "What?" I brushed him off, but dug out the Chilton's manual and -- sure enough -- there's a set of turbes running from the transmission to the top and bottom of the radiator. Those tubes are the KEY TO EVERYTHING.

ghoti

Had a nice, subdued holiday with the folks, then went to Conway for the annual tacos-and-lotto-gifts-fest. That was rather fun, too: I received the gift that dad bought, which was a Galilean, er, Galileo Thermometer. I also received a few nugæ and -- drumroll, please -- the grand total of monies from the season gets me enough to buy a radiator for the truck. Yay! I also have £35 in Walmart currency, so there's, I don't know, a new belt, and a mouse, and... some music, or something. Eh.

I finished The Old Man and the Sea last night, and enjoyed it greatly. I then began For Whom the Bell Tolls, but haven't gotten far enough into it to be terribly interested yet. Alas.

Fie festive yool.

Went to church on Sunday with th' folks and Gary Lee and Deborah Strack, and found it enjoyable, if somewhat odd. It turns out all the ritual (which I find myself enjoying more and more) that is part of the Anglican church was thrown out by St. Michael's. No wonder it never felt right: it wasn't. St. Peter's, in Conway, is good: foreshortened nave, wide transept, modern-altar-before-altar-like chancel screen, lots of appropriate (though not very traditional) stained glass. Sadly, the new church faces north-south, while the old church was oriented properly, i.e. east-west with the altar of St. Peter in the west. Some people -- well, I guess you can't expect much from highchurch protestant.

Fixed a lot of computers for Tim & Sharlene yesterday: Tim wanted the mouse and keyboard to work on his machine, and to replace Me with XP, which I did. Then he had this other, semi-faster machine for Sharlene, which I had to set up with 98, and copy over all her old files. Fun -- and I'm still not done with Sharlene's computer, since I can't get it to display more than 16 colours at 640x480. I'll dig up a patch.

Christmas eve, y'all. Yo.

In Little Rock now. Had the Lewis family Xmas; it was nice and subdued, for once in our lives. I've ybouten gifts, or at least some, for the ol' familia, and am getting settled in hereabouts.

Carlos, call me.

Drew had a nice party last night, full of people I already knew, and a large majority of Geeks. At some point Stewart threw up a map of the US on Drew's board, and Rachel got mad, since she's from Michegan, and Stew had essientally left the entire state off. Then there was a big debate over regions, and the mason-dixon line, and that was when I came to the conclusion (probably for the second or third time, at least the second vocally -- Christ, Drew makes strong 'nog) that we were, in fact, a bunch of geeks. But it was fun, you know -- so many interesting people, many of whom I'd never seen before. Tom and I discussed brewing; I sampled his mead, and found it not at all lacking, unlike the Rocky Mountain Meadery crap which I paid £6.23 for.

Going home today; I washed dishes, pulled all the dirty clothes (except the ones I'm wearing), swept, and mopped. Still need to pack up plants, and books, and of course this very computer, but I've got another hour and a half.

Fredrick didn't like my bees site all that much; I've got his suggestions, and will probably update the site periodically in the interests of Academic Prurience. Eventually, I will SHOW them! I will SHOW THEM ALL! MWAHAHAHA!

Vergil's Bees site is here.

I got a 50/50 on the paper for Coon; she suggested I do the Plan of St. Gall for my honors thesis, and I'm considering it, pending an okay from the classics folks.

All done! Well, mostly. As of this writing, I'm still staring at two pages to do for Dave, but the Exam is done, and hey, that's it. The semester is just a few seconds from being done. Excellent! I'll post a link when the site is done. Then I begin to clean house. Woot!

Australian Table Wines

A lot of people in this country pooh-pooh Australian table wines. This is a pity, as many fine Australian wines appeal not only to the Australian palette, but also to the cognoscenti of Great Britain. "Black Stump Bordeaux" is rightly praised as a peppermint flavoured Burgundy, whilst a good "Sydney Syrup" can rank with any of the world's best sugary wines. "Chateau Bleu", too, has won many prizes; not the least for its taste, and its lingering afterburn.

"Old Smokey, 1968" has been compared favourably to a Welsh claret, whilst the Australian wino society thouroughly recommend a 1970 "Cote du Red Label", which, believe me, has a kick on it like a mule: eight bottles of this, and you're really finished -- at the opening of the Sydney Bridge Club, they were fishing them out of the main sewers every half an hour.

Of the sparkling wines, the most famous is "Perth Pink". This is a bottle with a message in, and the message is BEWARE!. This is not a wine for drinking -- this is a wine for laying down and avoiding. Another good fighting wine is "Melbourne Old-and-Yellow", which is particularly heavy, and should be used only for hand-to-hand combat.

Quite the reverse is true of "Chateau Chunder", which is an Appelachian concherle, specially grown for those keen on regurgitation -- a fine wine which really opens up the sluices at both ends. Real emetic fans will also go for a "Hobart Muddy", and a prize winning "Cuiver Reserve Chateau Bottled Nuit San Wogga Wogga", which has a bouquet like an aborigine's armpit.

Paper's done! Carole and Karen both agreed to look at it and see if there's anything wrong with it. It isn't the best, but it's done. Now, on to Latin!

Communications final is -- god willing -- a "B". That makes the final grade a high "B" or a low "A".

I got money from Payroll again; I finished Slaughterhouse-Five, too. Man, that's a good book. I've started Ulysses, too -- likewise enjoyable.

Mind vacant. Come back later.

Okay, so I may not have gotten as many correct as I thought on the Chaucer exam, but I'm still fairly confident I'll have an "A" in there.

Didn't do anything on the website yesterday, as I spent most of the day in the library working on the paper for Coon. Haven't gotten to the major argmentative part of it yet, but I did outline the whole thing, and I've got separate pages for each section. I've decided that, since most of the history articles I've read tend to take a long time getting to their point, I'm going to stop writing papers in the old "one-paragraph-for-each-topic-one-pargraph-for-intro-and-conclusion" mileu, and instead write "introduction-with-interesting-historical-context;-talk-about-historical-document's-origins;-talk-about-releveance-of-document;-conclusion-with-interesting-historical-ramifications." I think it will be good, and I'm shooting for six pages.

I asked payroll for more money, but that was on Friday, and I don't know if I'll get it, but I'll pretend that I will. I mean, I should get it...

Test tomorrow, paper done by tomorrow evening, turn in paper and take Latin exam on Tuesday, website done by Wednesday evening, and I'm free, Jack! I... get... to... clean up the flat. But it needs it, though, and I'll feel good later.

Sold back a lot of books, and went to the Used Bookshop and turned them into other books. Two are on the Modern Library list, and four (plus the two Carole gave me) are on the Radcliff list, and I bought a slender volume by W. Someset Maugham (The Moon and Sixpence), when I was supposed to buy Of Human Bondage, but we'll see if this is any good.

Man, that yellow feeling is coming back -- the feeling that by owning these books, I'm going to end up in a big old house in the Victorian District of some town, having a huge library, three cats, and no life. It's interspursed with the white feeling, though -- the melancholy, abandoned-clapboard-church-in-the-woods feeling.

Am I weird? Probably. Maybe it was the drugs -- but then maybe some drugs make you a good poet. Or not.

Accompanied Carol M. out last night, ostensibly to see a movie, but more importantly to maintain her mental health, as she had broken up with a -- in my personal opinion -- childish, immature, person who didn't know what he wanted from life and a relationship (and no, it wasn't me). She wasn't doing very well until I suggested that we go to PetCo (I think it's PetCo) and look at the ferrets, and the tuberats were so cute that she broke out of it. I've got a pretty good sympathetic ear, I think, and if it wasn't for the fact that she hardly talks in a register I can hear well, I'd have a better one with her, but she felt better after that. Not... great, you know, but better.

Woot! After a few days of blur, here I is again. I bet you missed me, didn't you? Anyway, the important thing is, the website is coming along well, and I think I came out three points ahead on the Chaucer exam, which puts me at 215/200 for the exams, and then whatever he calls that "B" on the crappy paper I wrote, and I'm fairly certain I've got an "A" for the class. Keep your appendages crossed, though.

So, that's two A's fairly well set, and most likely a "B" in Georgics. I know I can get out of Comm with an "A", too; all that's left is to put my all into the paper for Coon, and that's tomorrow's party. Damn, that's going to be a rough ride, but if I take all day Saturday and part of Sunday to do it, I think I can swing it all right.

I ran out of money at the Writing Center, asked Payroll for more, and then worked two days solid and ran out of money again. I don't know if I'm going to ask again; I may just work for free, because I'm there. I don't really need the extra bucks... but that's a lie, actually. Hmm...

Finished the Sedaris book, and I'm going to take up the Lex Drueidis: For every book I buy and read, I must read two other books. That way, I'll clear out the excess of books which I already have by my bed. Likewise, I've started reading the Top 100 Books of the Twentieth Century, and I've added a rule to that that says the books may only come from Dickson Street Books, thereboy supporting both the local economy and my pocketbook.

I'm off and I'm leaving, too,
ICL

Okay, classes ended with a tiny little fizzle. I took a Latin exam -- doing slightly better save the section with all the plants that the old guy was cultivating under the towers of Corcyria where the black Galasian river curves. I got some website done, too, by which I mean the fabulous and hilarious introduction, and of course I've updated the bibliography, since I've started citing things. Coon's paper's coming along as well, by which I mean I have one of what will, at its current quality, turn out to be about six pages.

Then, out of the grey, I got a call yesterday from Drew, so he and I went out -- me being the sort of fellow who'll shirk any responsiblity for a good night of hedonism (and you know, he's right, I can afford to procrastinate a little, despite the little Hermione Granger that is my conscience and nigh-dominant personality). So, though I had had a late lunch, he wanted a later one, so I drank water (since the old ape at the pizza place wanted ID -- the first time I've been carded in sacula saclorum). We talked about Raymond Chandler and other 30s Book Noir writers, and then headed out to do a few errands, erranting our way up to Barnes & Noble in time for me to blow seventeen on David Sedaris' Me Talk Pretty One Day, which I'm enjoying; he's a funny writer.

He dropped me off at the ol' flat-o-rama, and then I swing the hip groove back up to his place after a brief tour of Quicken (got to keep track of those finances, kids). Following this, we fell in with a Mod Crowd, consisting of Stuart, Amy, Amy's SO whose name escapes me at the moment but I think it was "James" or something similar, and -- joining us later -- Aul Tom (who got his power back on and had that and a keen story about riding his bike to tell us), and, for the first time ever in my sight, Rachel, the reporter and Drew's current SO (more on this later) We all jumped over to JR's, which is a loud little joint near The Square, and they had the good grace to just accept my credit card and start a tab without making a scene about it.

What followed was a night of not-exactly-gin-soaked conversation, where we just cut loose and had a good chomping lip session. I had three Guinness Draught Bottles, which comes out to about a pint and a half, so there was still pain being felt when I went home, no worries there; it also matched the slices of pizza I had, and makes two trinities, which I'll consider to be God's way of sacntioning the evening.

So, yeah, Rachel. She's as Tall As Drew (he's been worried about this for some reason), thin without being overly so, and angular. Light accent. Mildly funny. Good stories. I have no idea what sort of person she is, because there were seven of us, and the conversation by that point was focused between Stuart and "James", who were arguing about godonlyknows, so she was left out of the loop.

Between Drew and Rachel, and Amy and "James", being loving without obviously so, I was feeling rather blue about having no SO, but there were three other single men at the table, so we gave each other supporting glances from time to time, or maybe I made that up, but at any rate I felt less blue about it than I would have in bad company. Single men: God's way of keeping orgies from happening in public. Oh yeah.

So, yeah, nothing's done yet, not a lick, and I've still got 50 lines to do for Dave for today, not to mention the website and this cursed paper. Life goes forth, though. Laundry, yeah, I've got to do laundry, and wash the dishes.

Va bene,
ICL

Yehaw! I know what's going to be on Quinn's test, and it's not as hard as I thought it would be. Good.

I began to build a website for Dave's final, but there's still the major snag of their being absolutly no images of beekeeping, bees, or Aristaios in the LIMC[1]. In fact, the bastards tend to leave things out, so I'll say, look up "Apis" and it'll say, "Isis, 31a, 33, 45", and -- by gosh -- those will be the ones it's missing. Funny, that.

Haven't done much for Coon's paper, either, although I just got a thesis and sent it to her; with luck, she'll like it and I can begin writing. In the meantime, man, dig those pretty pictures. Oooh... pretty.

========
[1] Lexicon Iconographicum Mythicae Classicae -- the Big Book of Ancient Images of Religious and Cultural Significance. It's nice, when it HAS WHAT YOU'RE FUCKING LOOKING FOR.

Hm. The past few days have been quiet. Saturday I did very little, aside from laundry, and the Saturnalia, which was nice. Went to church today, and the sermon (to which I can't link today) was very nice -- Father Simmons spoke in favour of "initiating a dialouge for the purpose of blessing Gay and Lesbian unions", and apparantly Bishop Maze is for such unions. It was rather amusing, actually: he (Father Simmons) said that he "had the approval of the Bishop", and all I could think was, "Yeah, but you don't have the approval of Williams, or of Lambeth, now do you?". I hope there's not a schisim over this, or there'll never be any peace.

Been ploughing through the ol' Plan of St. Gall in Brief, which as it turns out is little more than a bloody art exhibit, and as such rather useless with respect to history.

Wow. Okay, so the snow did nothing to our lives, save that speech was lacking with respect to its teacher. No sweat off my nose; I'm done in that class, excepting the final, which is all bookbased.

So, for that matter, is Quinn's Chaucer final, which I really need to know better, so come Thurday, I'm schlepping the Big Book of Chaucer up the hill (because I have to work) and I'm not going home until I've read all the stories I need to know, or until the Writing Center closes, one of the two.

Dave scheduled two more classes of Latin, one next Wednesday and then the following Friday. This on the heels of a test (which I have to take before Wednesday -- don't let me forget, guys!), another test before the following Wednesday, and a website for him. I've about got the topic of the website down, but we'll see.

The Indefatigable M has assigned us a rather interesting paper, for which I sacrificed ten quid and an hour of my life to steal -- by which I mean copy -- the (ahem) *fabulous* Plan of St. Gall in Brief, an oversized monstrosity but ultimately worth it. Some day I'll condense it into double-sided pages, and have some nice fellow bind it, so I can put it on the shelves of my office and say, "Oh, yes, I got that ages ago, when I was an undergrad. Copied it myself. By hand."

Heh. Undergrads belive anything you tell them.

No NPR, and KXUA is playing thrash music nonstop. Woot! No weather information at all!

Hah! "Snow" indeed. Only half an inch at best, and it's all going to just melt away. The ice is off the roads, but nobody seems to be driving, and the School has issued a notice that its "Inclement Weather Policy is in effect", a statement full of sound and fury, but....

It's cold out. It's going to stay that way. Not only that, but Dave wants to have at least one, possibly two more Latin classes, so we can finish book 4, plus an exam somehow. The work is piling up faster than all the damn snow.

There went a vehicle, about as fast as they normally do, so I assume that we're up and running this morning. Better turn on the radio and see.

Snow. In December. In my state, which is like a mini-Australia when it comes to snow. Man. What a wonderful world.

Snow!

Well, there you are, then. Not terribly much exciting has happened in the last, oh, six or seven hours. We got ice, but no snow, and the temperature is rising, so the air is filled with the lamentations of small children. My dreams were normal in their weird ways, and I haven't gotten much done for Coon's class, but I'll fake it if I must (which I must).

Got some weird email this morning. Check it out.

Today is a long day, of course; I'm not looking forward to spending ten hours up top of the hill, but it's got to be done. Ah, well.

Well, I would have done this sooner, but hey, the ol' Blogger was having a fit, and wouldn't let me publish anything. Typical of the last few days, actually: classes are passing in blurs, with little to mark their going save that I wake up one day closer to exams. I've got Latin to do, I've been digitizing these tapes, there's food to be cooked, prayers to be said over swich food, and so forth and so on. It's odd.

At any rate, we're getting rain now, a real freezing drizzle, that'll ice over and pave the way for some nasty broken legs come the morrow. I'm cold, but I'm afraid to turn up the heat, lest I get another damn thirty-dollar gas bill (nigh treble the usual amount, both of fuel and of money). What's to report, really? I've been planting more things now that I've got this potting soil (thanks, Mom & Dad!), but I don't expect half of it to survive the cold and storm. I finished She last night, and started An American Odyssey, which for those of you out there who don't know, is the autobiography (bloated to over 300% with notes and explanations) of Robert Brownlee, an early ninteenth-century immigrant from Scotland. It's rather neat, in a detached sort of way.

Haven't talked to Fran at all in weeks. Don't know if that's indicitave of anything, but then again it may be indicative of everything. It was nice while it lasted, I'll say that much, and even though Satchmo says that it's easier to patch things up than to make a new start, well, I tried that, and it's gotten me one five-second conversation since.

Va Bene, you lovely people, you.

Pacem sereamus pro feministes; non ius est judicare omnes per unum. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa; absolve me, feministes.

Ah... home sweet flat. Two bills and some music in the mail, cold as ice, and no food in the fridge. Lucky me the ol' parentales brought me up, and were willing to take me shopping, so that part got done.

Oh, yeah, getting ahead of myself here: the dinner with Mawmaw & PawPaw went fine; they're more interesting that I remember (but then I also remember being the quiet grandson in the corner with the book, not doing anything). Mawmaw was interested in my reason for buying a rosary, and I told her the truth: I was going to use it to pray. Of course, I didn't tell her I was going to use it to pray in a medieval sense, i.e. in bad Latin with a poentential bent, but hey, she didn't ask what kind of prayers I'd say....

Am I weird? Probably. Anyway, between there and here was of little consequence, except that I met a fine young wench and rodgered her twice.

(One... Two... Three...)

You don't belive that, do you?

Eh. Nothing much to say here. Yesterday was quiet; we did the shopping and then went on to Oma & Opa's house for dinner. Matt & Jun were there. It was the usual quiet sort of evening typical of my grandfather's decline; he announced his intentions perhaps nine or ten times.

Today was about the same; mom's been cleaning house like mad for my Dad's Parents' arrival later on, and so when Dad needed to do something, I went / was made to go with him. Afterwards, mom taught at me how to do divinity, but it looks rather tricky, so I don't know when I'll do my own.

Why read about my life? It's pathetic enough. Go read Michael Kelley.

I promise I'll do something interesting just as soon as I can get up the courage to do so. You Future Generations, you're lucky I'm making any sort of record at all, let alone being entertaining in them. What do you people want, anyway, "Met a girl, and rodgered her twice?" This isn't Virginia, you know.

ICL

Well, the ol' fambly dinner went all right; they're genuinly good folks, if a bit, well, uncouth. Naw, they're all right people. It was a fairly quiet affair, considering.

Went to see the Harry Potter movie. It wasn't the best cinema I've ever seen, and the ending just sucked, but the little scene after the credits was cute. Man, I'm telling you, Shirley Henderson was cute -- and as old as my parents, so no hopes there. The Burrow rocked, too -- it was like living with Grizz and Ana, only with more magic and everybody was redheaded.

My office will be Albus Dumbledore's office. I will own it.
I may dress like him, too. The eccentric part, though, I've got DOWN.

My dreams have been getting weird, and I'm still trying to deal with lonliness. Of all things, the Heloise-Abelard Letters are helping out.

"Who knows tomorrow where our home will be / But when I'm with you, that's home enough for me..."

Io.
Okay, so I spent five hours in the car on a three-hour journey, thanks to Mike "I'm the Guv-4-life" Huckabee and his Merry Pranksters. Dad and I almost went (back) to Subiaco, but I wasn't paying attention and the road's not well-marked coming down the Old Highway. There was dinner, and a consultation with a good friend who's having a bit of trouble, and whom I agreed, in my small way, to assist. Not much after that, really. I came home, started some clothes, and read my misdirected mail.

Been trying to get a copy of Windows XP, although I'm not really sure why -- 98 is doing fine, and I'm timorous to change, but it's nice to have an upgrade, and it's free-as-in-other-people's-beer, so what goes, goes.

We'll be going out to see Dad's family today, minus the grandparents, who are not coming for social reasons which I can't discuss here. Ahh... family.

I still miss someone; wherever she is, I hope she'll show up soon, because I'm tired of looking. Come back to us, Barbara Lewis Hare Krisna Beauregard.

Pax.

Oi.
My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus. Drew came round whilst I was plugging away at life, and invited me over to share in his new case of Beaujolais Nouveau, which we did, in the company of Shoph (apologies if it's spelled wrong) and Stuart. Tom came by, but, being Tom, left early for the purpose of finishing a paper. We all then went to dinner, and Drew and I returned; I finished reading Maus while he cleaned up in anticipation of his parents' arrival today (i.e. he was doing what I /should/ have been doing, but didn't because I was ydrinkeð

Before all this, I gave my silly little speech on cultures changing, and it came out well. Anthro, which was supposed to include an exam (for which I did not study) turned out to include a take-home exam and no actual class. I'd be whinging about the whole affair if it wasn't for the fact that it's an easy 'A'.

Ran off a copy of the important articles from the feminist issue of Speculum[1], since I think I need to know about this stuff. I don't know what it is, but Gender Studies in Mediæval History fascinates me. Hell, that'll play in Peoria.

Oi. Must... resist temptation to purge. Got to get a little orange juice, and a Darvon for my head.

-- ho oun Polemarxos ephe: O Sokrates, dokeite moi se exoinon einai.
-- ou gar kakos docazeis, en d'ego. [2]

===
[1] Volume 68, Issue 2 (April 1993)
[2] Plato, Republican Hangover

Rose early, did the new usual morning thing, had some coffee, ran bloody out of milk. Went to Chaucer, had a rolliking good time listening to Quinn blather on about some tangent, not that I'm worried. He'll get us to the end or die trying. (Right now, it's a fifty-fifty bet)

Went to work, did bugger all, and didn't have any coffee I'm so happy; maybe I can be normal! Afterwards, I went to Medieval History, which was fairly typical in its aspect, and then tried to go buy some milk, but the damn quickie-mart is closed for repairs, and the other one didn't have any half-gallons (or instant mac & cheese, which I was going to buy to cover the taste of these terrible soy noodles -- also free, so no knocking).

Pretty quiet thereafter. I finished up tapes for Sharlene, did some work on the first Antipode story, and basically ignored the fact that I have to give a speech tomorrow, but hell, I've been doing that for weeks anyway, so why start now? I'll just get up there and be irrelevant for six minutes and then sit the hell down.

Emerald Rose is a good band, though they do get a little heavy-handed on the Neo-Paganism sometimes, which I found hard to stomach even when I was a neo-pagan.

I'm to bed. Expacete, vobe.

Sunday, Part 3:
Patched things up with Fran; as for what this means, watch this space.

It's confirmed: pretty much every inch of feminist literature is written like a combination doctoral dissertation in animal husbandry and psychology, full of sound and fury and signifying nothing.

Oh, uh, the Sermon today was pretty profound. Take a looky-see at this spot. It was all about accepting and welcoming in your enemies; it's worth a read. Go! Go now!

That instant soup I ate was pretty terrible, but it was free, so I'm not knocking. I may be coming down with something, but it'll pass, I hope.

Sunday, part 2:
Okay... so... St. Paul's uses Rite I, and I wasn't ready for all the eths and thorns. It also sounded funny, since apparently either there's some crazy new stuff in the old Rites, or they're using some weird responses, I don't know. The church itself looked like a Norse stave-church, and the mass felt like 8/10ths of a Catholic Rite. The Arkansas Highlanders were there, too, since it's apparently the fest of St. Andrew. Nice, though. I feel clean. (grin)

I ended yesterday with about an hour of reading Judith Butler's Gender Troubles. My initial impression of the book is that it seems to be aimed for an audience of, oh, American, WASP feminists in their mid-forties -- in short, a hall full of Judith Butlers. I wonder if all feminists write so densly, and with such incredibly charged and negative words like "phallogocentric" and "masculinist hieriarchies". Certainly Lynda doesn't; but then I haven't read any of her books, although by the way she lectures, it seems to me that she's beyond the sort of brutal male-bashing that seems to pervade Feminist literature. She disparaged the GT, at any rate.Nevertheless, once again I feel dirty for reading feminist work -- as though it's something I'm not supposed to be reading. So, as a counter to that, I read a few chapters in H. Rider Haggard's She -- the antidote to Feminism if ever there were one.

After a fitful sleep, in which I dreamed that the church had no holy of holies and they just sat around discussing the bible like a bunch of Quakers, I began the day with more coffee, and a few more sections of the introduction to the RB80. I also started out with a bit of Genesis, and the (ugh) genaeologies of St. Matthew[1], since I figure it's high time I sat down and read the Bible; it can only come in handy in this field.

Also, with it being Sunday, I'll be going to St. Paul's[2], up the road; it will be the first time in saecula since I've gone to services, and I'm a little nervous, but it'll be the big service, and I have a few friends there. Also, there'll be coffee, so I'm safe (wry grin). Blame it on the Benedictines, I guess, but I've been meaning to go to St. Paul's for a long time. Now I will. I've even dressed up for the occasion -- nothing swave and deboner, mind you, just a little dressier than I've been wearing. I'm moving towards more conservative clothing anyway, on account of the ol' profession coming up and all. Couldn't find any slacks, though. Damn, I guess it's day-old jeans.



============
[1]And Boarb begat Mishra, and Mishra begat Charles the Bald, who begat by means of a goat named Shelia-Louise the son of Likud...
[2]St. Paul's Episcopal Church. Yep, I'm going Anglican again.

Wow. Okay. So, for the first time in, well, forever, I feel really good. Just... good. It's nice. I got up, I started some coffee, I read a bit of the RB80, and did the morning comix. I think I'm out of the ol' depressive funk, but there's still some major junk left over from that. Man, if we could have junk sales for our psycological damage, that would rule. I'd get rid of so much stuff.

Christ. Well, I'm glad, actually, that I did kind of go crazy there, because it's cut me out of a lot of teliologies, like "Well, I'm going to Grad School here, and I'll live with her, and we'll have great sex and a house with two cats, &c. &c." It's really made me aware of a) how dependant I am on metanarratives, at least personal ones -- the cultural and social ones I can break no problem -- and b) that I tend to create these damn things all the time, and then get really depressed when they don't work out. So, I need to stop that, eh? [1]

Funny, that you're in the best state to date your ex when you have the hindsight to know. Cursed monolithic time.

For those of you just tuning in, this is the first post, so if you're a little confused, hey, you're not alone.

And now for something completely different...

I used to sleep at the foot of Old Glory,
And awake in the dawn's early light.
But much to my surprise,
When I opened my eyes,
I was the victim of The Great Comprimise.

Benedictines RULE. I visited Subiaco (AR) yesterday, and they're just a great bunch of folks, really they are. You should visit them today (and send them Campbell's soup labels -- the monks need a van, even... though... they're... Benedictines... Oh, well).

Today's menu will be soup and milk, followed by pasta [2] and Vernor's Ginger Ale. Vernor's Ginger Ale is a proud sponsor of this blog; it is available wherever fine fizzy fundaments are found.

And now, the Lovely Lemon Sisters will sing "Salve Regina", by Louis Jordan.

(footnotes)------------
[1] "But dreaming just comes natural
like the first breath of a baby
like sunshine and dasies
like the love buried deep in your heart."
-- John Prine, De Trinitate
[2] Pasta may contain BEEF, which is an animal by-product caused by putting small minds in the presence of death. It may also be served with a white sauce, depending on how fancy I'm feeling tonight. It is APHC night, after all.