Well, it's been a quite week in Lake Wobegone, my home town, out here on the edge of the prarie...

Wait, that can't be right. Anyway, it really has been quiet. I've gotten another book (actually several, but only one's arrived so far) which I needed for my thesis, and I've been ploughing throw that; otherwise, I've been spending my mornings and early afternoons at the Writing Centre, in part because they let me sit somewhere quiet, drink their coffee, and enjoy their air conditioning whilst I pretend wholeheartedly that I'm going to do work. In the coming week I'll be leaving for Little Rock, to recieve my truck and see about seeing some folks (and getting an eye exam, but the one has nothing to do with the other). I've sent the change-of-address form, and set it for Wednesday.

The ceiling is still leaking, but it stopped for several days this week, which is nice, as the floor has had a chance to dry out some. Starting Monday (and sadly going only through Wednesday), I'm calling Faucette Properties EVERY MORNING to let the gormless gits know they NEED to come fix my ceiling. YESTERDAY. Some people, eh?

Speaking of which, I am down to a solid four pages, but I did get to compare the entire Roman aristocracy to a littler of puppies.

Back at you in a week or so.


Well, I spent the past few days in LR, like I said, and the air conditioning was nice. The house only partly felt like a home; as my folks move their stuff out and into storage, the memories get packed away as well, and that's the way of things.

Quite a few things came out of the excursion, though: for one, I now have clothes I can wear in public (I'm down to six shirts that don't have paint on them) and my first suit (mom cried -- well, almost). I also received the boon of three boxes of my grandfather's old books, which he no longer even acknowledges exist, and probably would have shipped off to St Michael's like the rest of the library. The sad thing is that, going through his library, I realised that my grandfather was a very intelligent man -- I emphasise the was, for although he isn't dead, he's certainly given up on thinking. It is frightening to think that I never met the compassionate, liberal vicar he revealed himself to be in his writings, that such a person, turned from forestry to God's work, LIVED the way of Christ, the loving truth, and then... poof. One anyerism, and he disappates into slovenly madness. tis de bios, ti de terpnon -- and what if that happens to me?

*sigh* Now I'm all depressed.

On the other hand, I've been reading Joseph Campbell's Hero with a Thousand Faces, and between that and the Gender Troublesit's had a profound effect, let me tell yow. Listen to this:

Gender does not imply desire. One can be 'male' without desiring 'female' or 'male'; thus, simply because the gender one carries assumes a cupidious gaze does not mean there is copulation behind it. One can desire Christ, desire to be penetrated by Christ, and mean it a metaphysical, spiritual way. By expressing agape with the terms of eros, bishops and other fathers are subverting the norm, and 'elevating baser desires'. As my father always said, 'Get your Mind out of the Gutter!' -- and it is no different here. Deisire is in the lexicon of both eros and agape, and it is use by both indpendent of either gender of sex of the subject or object.

Pretty nice, eh? That's probably going into the thesis.

I just realised (heh) that tomorrow is July 4, which means that a) the Writing Centre will be closed, and b) the Library will be closed, so I have to stay indoors and find a way to drink gin quietly without quinine. ('quietly without quinine' is (tm) and (c) Jacob Lewis, 2003).


Well, I'm in Little Rock now, as thanks to the loans (and a few gifts from people -- I also accept paypal donations, but I don't know how to tell you that yet (grin)) I can now afford to have the truck repaired. I won't be in the city for too long, though - with or without that truck, I'll still need to tie up loose ends in F'ville before it's on to Glorious England.

Classe(s) are done; the hole in my ceiling has widened; I bought a new fan (with its own mind, now, so it can turn itself on WHENEVER IT FEELS LIKE IT) and a new CD Burner (it made an audio cd in FIVE minutes. I wept openly.)

My mother will drag me to church, because she's like that, but it's only church, and I can put up with it for a little while. Besides, it's interesting.

I received my British Harry Potter on Thursday at 1632, and finished it Friday at 1327, with six hours of sleep and a little bit of work thrown in there, too. I'll have to read it again, since the hype made me fast forward through it.

I saw the property my folks are buying yesterday, and aside from its tick-infested nature and the fact that Mother Green has seen fit to make a new form of insect-slug-minnow hybrid grow in the ichor that used to be the pool, it looks all right. In another month, the fruit trees will be in bloom, and their blackberries will be doing nice indeed.

Off now. Shoo!


Well, the asceticism didn't go too well, the nearest desert being about a thousand miles away, and perhaps human beings aren't so bad anyway. Aside from that, well, Cambridge took their d**d money, and I talked to the loans people and found out that they're a bunch of clueless gits, but they have accepted this and are easily corrected, so that's all right. Following the news that I would get (insane amount of money deleted), I went off and -- hedonistic me -- ordered the two books I'll absolutly need for Cambridge.

Old English is still, well, old and not really English. I have a work-around, but it bugs me that I can't construct things in the language, such as sentences and complex thoughts (not too bad, though, as a truly complex thought beyond 'Hurr... Hrotwulf thrash with mighty, jewel-encrusted, sweet-killing sword, forged of blood and iron, with a sharp edge, how daddy loves his sword, yes he does (direct quote from Beowulf) -- anything beyond that would require, well, words such as 'complex' and 'thought'; I do, however, like their literal-mindedness sometimes: 'And Grendel, with his hate-thinkings, busted the door in two.' And besides, how many pices of authentic literature can start with the sentence fragment, 'was busted'?).

Mad as it may seem, I've decided to live in this flat for another year -- hence I sent off the signed lease on Saturday, along with a cheque for this month's rent, and a little note saying 'Please send someone round to fix the holes in the celings in my kitchend and living room', with judicious use of underline.


God, what a shitty week this has been. I've spent most of it in Old-English limbo, flailing about and not doing a bit of decent work; Quinn seems to think I'm doing well, but I know that I don't have the grammar down, and it's starting to show. I've begun working on Beowulf, and it's not going well at all.

I've also spent most of the week loosing sleep and having my insides liquidated over the fact that Cambridge, an otherwise noble and respected institution, has yet to debit my account the £975. It was supposed to be on the 6th -- and all of their literature stated explicitly that they would do so ON the sixth. I haven't seen the transaction, I haven't heard anything from them, just dead silence and me worried that I won't get in. If that happens, I don't know what the next step is.

I also said something really stupid and vaguly sexual (and clumsy) to an otherwise lovely and wonderful person, and, after heavy drinking (or rather before, since that's what brought it on), have decided to become a desert ascetic, because this whole living-among-human-beings thing just really isn't working out. Jesus Christ.


*blows dust off of blog*

There. Geez, it's been a month. I suppose I haven't written in a while as there's not much to say. The thesis is coming along slowly, but it *is* coming along; I've decided to rewrite the opening significantly. As I said to Quinn, 'I'd like to build a bridge from Classical Antiquity to Late Antiquity by demonstrating what has changed and what hasn't. I will then examine the gender roles of men in Late Antiquity and compare them to CA -- pointing out that, again, little *has* changed, save that the return to an oligarchy heralds a return to the Late Republic and Early Empire.' Later papers, like Master's Theses and Doctoral Dissertations, will build on this, and, if I'm lucky, eventually grant me tenure. As Terry Pratchett says, 'There is always a spare study somewhere, and a seat in the Great Hall (though to bring one's own napkin and utensils is a mark of wisdom).'

I have decided to -- once and for all -- give up on searching for keen, awakened women. There are too many failures, and outright blind alleys, dead ends, and dangerous pitfalls involved in the quest, and it's not fun anymore. I'm getting old, after all (I was tweleve when I was six, and twenty when I was twelve; at that rate, I am now approximately 47.398199e6), and you only live thrice. I'll just go on being myself, and let HER find me.

Other than that, not much news. I'm waiting on loans, and Cambridge to debit my account, which they said they were going to do yesterday but apparantly didn't get around to doing, because for all my duck-and-cover, end-of-the-world gloom, there's still (censored) dollars in there, so I'm safe. I may even buy groceries (mwahahah!).

Also, I discovered that reality is merely a fiction wrapped around an even scarier hollow shell, which is just the other side of this wall. Weird, no? I'm shocked.

The fundamental things apply early.
-- Frances Synotre, Things You Should Have Learned in School.


Ramadan is over, the new moon's shown her face
I'm halfway round the planet in a most unlikely place

-- Jimmy Buffett, 'Far Side of the World'

The semester has come to an end, and none too soon. I'm rather tired, and there's not much I can do about it at this point if my grades suck. As the papers got turned in, I felt just a little lighter; when Sexton's paper was away, I weighed about six pounds. The hard part was finishing all the stuff for Dave (which is now at http://comp.uark.edu/~jcl08/rof/); that took a lot of work, and I'm not at all happy with the result. Some of the pages are boring, or simply shite. Decent shite maybe, but tiresome all the same.

I made an Epityrum and served it up like the Umbrians do, with lots of oil and sphagetti. It was salty, and more than I think the Romans would have liked; I need to find some decent olives that aren't already pre-spiced in the brine. Still, it was good, and a decent excuse to expand my spices to the Roman side (coriander, cumin, fennel -- if anybody has any rue, I'd love them forever if they were to give me some). I need a little spice shelf now.

Now that the summer is officially here, I have a list of things to do next week while I'm off. Cleaning up is one; I'd like to move some furniture around, but I'm not sure where yet. I need to bracket out my paper for SEMA, and begin reading for it; I target late June or early July for the actual writing to begin, and I'd like to have a list of things to look for whilst I'm at Cambridge. Of course, there's also Latin, Greek, and German to study; I don't want to do too much with French yet, since the class is ultra-basic, and I don't want to get stuck in the 'oh-this-I've-had-this-before-blah' mode which results in nasty things like B's. There's tapes to be cut, and 'big' laundry to the laundro-hut; I've agreed to make bread for Genet, since she made that nasty face at me (I love that nasty face; all her faces are so cute... but don't tell her I said that).

Girls meet boys and boys tease girls
I'm headed out this morning for the far side of the world


Well, enough of this loathing-self whining. It's coming up on finals week now, and I've gotten a draught of the paper to Sexton, and am awaiting her comments. Dave's sent me a few comments on the site as well; I intend to finish those today *after* I write an essay for him on Corbeil's 'Why Do Roman Politicians...?' article; I'd also like to get started on the philosophy paper.

But there's better news ahead: Sturgis came in this week, and, once it was deposited for sure, I purchased a ticket to London for 23 July to 21 August. Man oh man, that's gonna be great. My passport's come in, and I'm thinking of using just a little Sturgis money to get some passport photos and then the International Student ID, which will, so I'm told, be *really* worth it. I also bought the book Quinn and I will use this summer; it's called 'Old English Grammar and Reader', and will be really fun. Along with that I picked up 'A Taste of Ancient Rome', which should be fun. I think I'm done buying things for now (grin).

The relationship with haec ille Clodia has, I hope, come to its natural end; I hope to still be friends with her, but this silly physical relationship has GOT to stop, because neither of our hearts is in it. I mean, she's good people, and we work together really well, but there's just not the right kind of harmonie. Still, somewhere out there, She is drawing closer; I can feel it.

Bah. Enough silliness! To work! I'll see you all in a week. Stay at peace, world.


I don't know. I'm broke, I'm headed toward drunk, and I'm depressed. There's two holes in my ceiling, no women in my life, a festering wound in my arm, and a helluva deadline in my future. My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus. I need to be held, but there's no arms to hold me. My truck's broke, my larder's empty, and my clothes are all wet. I don't even have a dog, but I expect that if he were to exist, he'd've r-u-n-n-o-f-t by now. What the hell am I supposed to do?


Women delight, confuse, and mystify me, and one woman in particular, who will most likely be my undoing for a long while yet. Other than that, I have little to say.


So much to relate, and most of it took place on Friday. I'm going to Cambridge -- more or less -- and I'm taking three hours with Quinn in Summer I, when he'll be teaching me Old English! I applied for my passport on Friday, and sent off the application for the programme as well; this was followed by the Fulbright Award ceremony, which, as all ceremonies are, was tedious. But afterwards, I went to Julius Caesar, the Brando version, and... well, I'm not going to publish the rest of the evening online, but it was inexperssible in words and long-sought-after.

The paper got in, if you're wondering, but it's crap, and I was off my stride all day yesterday: Connolly and I spent three hours just hanging out and attempting to speak Latin, a venture of doubtful success, but nonetheless worth having. The evening was capped off with dinner at A Taste of Thai, with friends who seem to think the world of me, for whatever reason.

"Let me confront you with the arguments of Reason herself; then you will see that she is right."


Had to break into my own damn house today, and then spent the rest of the afternoon getting groceries. I'm tired, and I have a paper due tomorrow. Woo!


What a depressingly average week. I've been working on all this website stuff for Dave. I got the paper back from Sexton, and it was marked up in ways that mean I'll not have any free weekends from now until the semester's end. Coon didn't belive that I'd read all the stuff I told her I'd read, or done the things I'd told her I'd done, and berated me again; can't wait until the fall. I've also been trying to work on getting a "Latina Viveat" club together, where we could speak Latin aloud, for fun and prophet; I may have found a time, but that remains to be seen. I'm also entertaining thoughts of running for Prytanis for 2003/4.
I'm really worried about going on Study Abroad this summer; it means assuming a lot of debt, and possibly doing things that may not be very interesting. On the other hand it's England, in the summer.
I wish I could say it would take care of itself, but... shit. I can't, and it won't, and I've got to worry about keeping the flat in the summer, and paying the bills.
I hate stress. It may very well kill me.

Sic volvere parces.


Okay, so, much to relate. I gave a presentation on Thursday that was I assume warmly received. Then, on Friday, 10 of us left for the HSF convention, which was very interesting. Old friends were met (and sadly snubbed, I'm afraid, but that's convention for you) and new friends made. After our victory (see below), we ended up at "Toto's", a real Italian restauraunt run by a real Southern Italian, which was most unique; as it turns out, they only serve food on Friday nights, so we lucked out.
Two of the three papers were not so good, and the middle one was GREAT, but it didn't win; in fact, the worst was honored, which makes me wonder about the state of the minds of the executive board.
Half of us won the Certamin; Aaron Randolph was elected as Megas Grammateus. The shirts sold quite briskly, and in fact we are nearly out of them, despite the fact that I think these were possibly the worst I've done.
Other than that, life has returned to normal, inasmuch as one can call stress and madness normal.



The folks came up, which was wonderful, because it broke the terrible pain that it is to birth a paper -- and this one, by all accounts, seems to have been quite the abortion. At any rate, we (my folks and I, not me and the paper) went out to Pea Ridge, a park I'd never even been to, so as to get a little sun. Boy, did I get it -- I think this is probably the first sunburn of the year. Oooh yeah.

Afterwards, we went over and saw The Pianist, a powerful film that defies any mention of me telling it to you. All I can say is that you should see it.

But yeah, so, I have a draught of this fucking S Petro paper, and man, it's an ugly mother. I'm going to have to spend some serious revision time on it -- but not tomorrow. Tomorrow, I figure out what I need to have done that I would have done last week if I hadn't been working on this paper.

Welche Farbe hat der Mind?


His ego nec metas rerum nec tempora pono;
imperium sine fine dedi

Ave Buse! Nos qui fracturi rota sint te salutes.

In short, in honour of the war, I have *stopped* reading Dante's Paradiso, and have instead added the Koran to my nightly Sacred Works readings (Tanekh and Christian scripture, and, if I could find it, a decent Nag Hammadi), and have taken to reading the Æneid, in English, as well. Cultural understanding and empire-making. Makes you just want to be Celtae in the hills, no?


Erica came up. She's doing well, for Erica. I gave her my folks' email and phone, and told her that my mother was concerned about her and would love to hear from her. She made the house smell like grass (for pain) and cigarets, and with the outside smells, and coffee, and the normal house smell, it felt like The House in Damascus, and I got very serene. She was a breath of fresh air, really -- if she hadn't come up, I'd be a different person.

Life feels good.


Well, That Silent Planet is done, and I've taken to reading a little Old Testament, a little New, and some Dante; I'd really like to get through all three of those things, but that might take a while. I've been taking Nyquill in the evenings, too, and that gives me about fifteen to twenty minutes to read before I pass out.

Nights have been warm, and days too, in spite of the rain. I hope *knock oak* that Spring's really here. Certainly my sinuses are sure of it: with the conifers being horny, my nose is being overly phlegmatic, and life's becoming a bitch. However, I seem to be getting over it, and that's a plus.

Spring break is up: I'm not going anywhere for it, though. Erica might come up here, and the folks too, but in between, there's a lot of reading and writing to do. I did get paid -- and if the folks come up and are amenable to it, I'll have lots of books to sell, and more money from SR and the Tax folks. Money provided me the ability to eat pretty well while that's going down. CL even took me shopping, so I have alcohol as well. Anything to get all this work done, I tell you what.

I got copies of God's Phallus and The History of Sexuality; the latter is for the Sexton paper, and the former may come in handy... someday. That's the big thing this week, actually: I have to have it to a presentable point (1/3 of it done, with five images to be shown and a host of other requirements) by the 27th.

I didn't even talk to fucking Coon this week; she was being a bit of a pill, and since I had to wait twenty minutes with no meeting, only to discover later that she'd been in a meeting and we'd missed each other in the hall, which caused her chastise my "patience", well, I let her have it, and haven't heard from her since. We'll see if she even wants to talk to me Mittwoch after next. Still, though -- I'd actually DONE work for her this week, and to have to wait -- not even being told that she *had* a meeting -- and then get a sarcastic remark like that... well, if she didn't deserve it, I'd like to see proof.

On another note entirely, I really, really wish I had a significant other, or a least a glimmer of hope for one. Not that it's vital to my life, but dammit, human beings need something to love, and I don't even have a cat.

Bah! Enough whining. L'chaim, or at least to work. Wish me luck; I'll write to you soon.Wish me luck; I'll write to you soon.


God in heaven.

This was a rough week. Dave lectured on Lacanian psychoanalysis, which is a whole mess of fun and caused me to briefly give up my desire for the One. That was recovered the following Thursday in NeoPlatonism, though, so that's all right. Of course, Wednesday morning, I awoke to discover that my sinuses had been drinking without me, and have yet even now as this is being written to sobre up. I've tried a lot, from mulled wine to ginger tea to herbs, and now I'm going balls-out Roman and drinking a tea made by boiling halved Red Wine with Honey, Rose Hips, Willow Bark, Mint, Yarrow, and Sage, all of which are designed to over-sanguinate my system and thereby crush whatever's giving my sinuses hell. The worst part is the drainage, though -- it's giving me a helluva cough.

My plate is equally full this weekend. I've got to complete a paper, read an article and answer questions, and prepare a lot of Latin for Dave; write an argumentative paper for Spellman, and read *some* gender stuff a/o archetecture for Sexton/Coon, so they'll get off my case about being lazy. Coon was especially selfish this week, and Sexton wants half a paper in two weeks. Thank God there's spring break there soon, and I've got some money coming, or I'd be just starving and going mad slowly.

Slowly? Perhaps not. Nevertheless, I've got a killer sinus problem, and there's no telling just exactly how much hell I've got to go through before it's all over. Christ, I don't need this right now.

Still got That Silent Planet to read, and a lot of other books once the ol' Tax Refund returns.

Jambalaya, Crawfish Pie, File Gumbo...


Well, it's march now, and the weather's perking up. I've got a lot on my plate this weekend, like papers for Dave and Sexton and Spellman (due later on, yeah, but that's no excuse to not start early), and of course getting those tapes for SR burned onto CD's -- no easy task: the tapes are 90 minutes, and the CD's only hold 80, which is a shame. I've also got this Narrative history to read, which is a good little dry background to what I'm writing about.

Have finished Peralandra and now started That Hideous Strength. Something about the end of Peralandra brought back memories of youth, of Summers spent at Camp Mitchell before I turned calleous, of the kinds of fiction I should have been writing, and most importantly, of The One. I'm really just ascending into Neoplatonisim, and I don't care, because it's nice to have SOME philosophy, some moral ground by which I can move.

Well, there's still Latin and a lot of reading to do, and Aul Drew mumbled something about doing something this weekend, so there you are.


Bihold! Hit am I. It snowed on Sonntag, which *mirabile dictu* caused them to close School on Montag (when I didn't need it) and go for Inclimiate Weather (which is a fucking cop-out) on Dienstag and Mittwoch. Nevertheless, I seem to be getting Things done, even with the Madness and All. I don't even have a legal Excuse to skip Landscape Architecture this Morning, dammit, though I pray to God that he's snowed in down in Winslow and perhaps has frozen to Death in some Arctic-Tundra Jack-London sort of Way.

I finished Ex Mundis Tacetis and have started Peralandra. Lewis' writing is holding up well. I also stole Abbey Hoffman's Steal This Book and have found it all very familiar: it's either Tramp Lore or Common-Sense I Learned from Ana & Grizz. No German this week, and I'm starting to feel the pinch. No matter; soon I'll have been paid, and can get on with life.


I've lost the last two days to the SCWCA conference, which isn't that bad since I'll make 1 2/3 paychecks (about $250 or so after taxen). On the other hand, I'm way behind with everything: I have to finish a summary for Dave, and do it right this time; then there's Sexton's readings, Latin, German, and Philosophy, more or less in that order. I also need to finish up tapes for Die Richardsons, so that I might make another $250 or so in the space of a few days. Of course, it's also snowing like a madman, and I've got bread in the oven (that's bread, dammit, not "a bun").

I started reading CS Lewis' Ex Mundis Tacetis, and have found it much, much more of a book than I remembered from my days as an ignorant seven-year-old. I may actually make it through the series this time -- but then I did that with Tolkein, too, and found them also pleasing.

Anyway, back to attempted work.

Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges.
-- Cicero, Pro Milone 11


I skated through this day. 92 on the LARC exam, B+ on the Philosophy paper (I left out some supporting details, and got a little pendantic, but other than that...). Dave writes really concise, clear prose, which is rather a change from Judith Butler, whom I am rereading, notepad in hand, in the hopes that ideas can be extracted from the nightmare of prose that that this Apuleius of California ejaculated on the screen. The rest of the day went grindingly slow, except for Petrine Basilica, wherein I did some writing, and piped up with something witty and semi-informed at the right times, despite having not read the assignment.
Latin's done, I'm about to start some German, and then finish reading the Roman Gaze biblio. Wednesday's todo list is getting longer by the second, and I have to drop some bucks by the bank or it's no bread for this boy come Satruday.

Management Advice 52 from the Cheese, by Fang Yuan.


Man, I've been a space cadet all day, and I have no idea why. Fredrick said that it might just be stress, and he may be right -- I swear by IOM (and Adonai, yes yes) that I'm not taking this kind of class load again. Christ's wounds! This is madness. If I were the sort of person who might do it, I'd buy some grass and blow a hooter.

In the meantime, I've got this Plotinus to read -- and he's rather clear, or at least didactic, so that's all right. I've also got to plow through some articles, and make a nice "homework sheet" for Drew, but I'm going to read some Harper's and eat dinner. At least Dave moved the Cicero summary to next week, so I can rest easy on that.

The sparrow's secret name is £èðß. It is pronounced "¤".


Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura
ché la diritta via era smarrita.

It's cold, it's warm, it's cold, it's warm, I'm lonely but I have good friends, assholes do vex me with their clamoring for work, and if Cicero weren't dead, I would cut off his head and hands and nail them to the Rostrum (which I would have to rebuild for the sole purpose of doing so). But both projects that are due this week are for Dave, and one of them is almost done, while the other has yet to be done because he hasn't sent the assignment yet, so I'm reading this speech with no clue as to what I'm to seek.

Sexton wanted more Gender readings in my bibliography, but didn't elabourate; Coon says there's a nice Early Medieval biblio, but I haven't seen it yet. Dave lent me a copy of his fabulous new book The Roman Gaze, so the (late) Antique section is go.

Speaking of bookes, I sold a few today -- about £43 6/- worth for £16 12/-. I'm not knocking it, though: £3 6/- will go to copy card, and the rest will be ancillory groceries. Yaay!

I should do dishes. I should do work. I should go to church. I should write longer sentences.

Remember that thou art mortal. Remember that thou art mortal. Remember that girl from the bar?

Today's supersecretspy message is:
.won pots tsum I tub


Okay, dig this: I was reading in the back of the 1979 BCP the Cannons of Faith, and came across this:

X. Of Free Will.

The condition of Man after the fall of Adam is such, that he cannot turn
and prepare himself, by his own natural strength and good works, to
faith, and calling upon God. Wherefore we have no power to do good
works pleasant and acceptable to God, without the grace of God by Christ
preventing us, that we may have a good will, and working with us, when
we have that good will.

XI. Of the Justification of Man.

We are accounted righteous before God, only for the merit of our Lord
and Saviour Jesus Christ by Faith, and not for our own works or
deservings. Wherefore, that we are justified by Faith only, is a most
wholesome Doctrine, and very full of comfort, as more largely expressed
in the Homily of Justification.

XII. Of Good Works.

Albeit that Good Works, which are the fruits of Faith, and follow after
Justification, cannot put away our sins, and endure the severity of
God's judgment; yet are they pleasing and acceptable to God in Christ,
and do spring out necessarily of a true and lively Faith; insomuch that
by them a lively Faith may be as evidently known as a tree discerned by
the fruit.

Now, I read all that and thought, "Wait a second... if Faith is all that is needed to be saved, why do good works? It's not as though anything benefits you from doing them... or does it?" You see, it's more like this: that Faith instead engenders us to know the Mind of God, and in so doing, allows us to do those works which are pleasing to him (and therefore good, since I take it like most everyone else that God == Good in a very Platonic sense). However, each of us has a soul, and it is by Works, which is nothing more than being the Hand to the Mind of God, that your soul is made better.
And then, I thought, what if that is a definition of Jesus? What if Jesus very early on connected fully with the mind of God, and was then engendered to do the greatest of these works? And also perhaps this is the explanation of his apostles, and all other saints who perform miracles -- they are simply those who have come to know fully the Good, i.e. God. God therefore is no less open to us now than he was before (ditch that line about "well it was only in the past-times" and the tendency to read Hebrew scripture as the long departure from God), and we ought to be able, with enough patience and energy, to do good, even miraculous, works.
This is wonderful news, if it be true. God did not turn God's face from us; we turned our faces from God, and thus, being self-absorbed, we managed to reach the spheres and find them empty. Let us turn back to God, who waits for us with patience that would try any time-bound being, and put our trust in God.

I'm still having trouble with the salvific cross, though. That's going to take some time.


Man, it's been almost non-stop snow for the past few days. Just as it was starting to melt -- bvrrrt! -- there's some more. It's keeping me confined to quarters as it were, since I don't want to kick around in the snow to get places, and it's sure as shit that the truck won't start in this mess, even if it were to have forward gears.

That's all right, though, because I've got to finish a draught for Spellman today, and I've got some Latin to do, and a ton of reading for Dave; I can't do Sexton's reading because I need to copy it off, and it's on reserve at FAL. At least I went shopping yesterday -- and started a new, very carefully budgeted menu plan -- so there's food in the house, and the clothes are drying behind me as we speak. Don't worry, kids: there's plenty to do. Stop picking on your brother! Patrick! Patrick Christopher Lewis! Take that mitre off and quit exiling your sister. Mary, go convert the dog.

Now, Ross, I belive it was your move?


"Every time you call my name, I see St Peter wave!
Dig my grave!"

Possible socio-religious significance with respect to the cult of the saints?

Today's favourite line:

"I dobut whether anyone could adequately celebrate the nature of the number seven, since it is beyond all words."
-- Philo of Alexandria, De Opificio Mundi 89-90

Snow! Lots of glorious, non-school-stopping snow!
Big men often tremble as they step aside,
I thought I was big once, but she changed my mind.

-- They Might Be Giants, "She's Actual Size"

I've been through the fire of introducing my Conference paper to other people, and having it questioned mildly. I did choke up a little bit, and turned bright red, but that's my usual reaction to being uncofindiently on the spot. They did point out a major flaw in my thesis: I don't have a damn clue what I mean about gender. So, this weekend is going to be a marathon reading of Begotten Not Made and Flesh and Stone. I really need to get my own copy of those books, and perhaps someday I will, but for that money is required. Maybe one at a time -- I have a list, but it gets expensive quickly, even the paperbacks (when bloody acedemic publishers bloody feel like publishing them, the bastards).

Anyway, the big focus of this weekend will be writing my first philosophy paper for Rhetora Spellman. I'm hoping to focus on Plato's schpiel in the Phaedrus about the soul being like a chariot. It shouldn't be too much of a problem.

Man, Dave wants a paper in two weeks, and there's a quiz in Latin on Monday. There for a while I was afraid that I wasn't going to be able to swing this much intensive stuff, but it looks like I might.

"The point is frozen, the beast is dead."


What is it about man that such terrible things can happen, and yet they seem, in their explosion of light and fury, it seems that your life is shown to be just that much more... interesting? In this Sunday, in which I have skipped several things, like church, and writing the first portion of my conference paper on Gender in Petrine Pilgrimmage Shrines, and as such, somehow feel better, I have just been.
This does not, of course mean that I will stop doing these things; instead it seems that I just need to feel less guilty about things. Regrets, my friends, are troubles -- failures, lost opportunties, gloom, doom, vituperation, brimstone -- all are not worth caring about, in the end.
I think, of course, that what did it was that I came home, to a temparate house in February, to drying clothes, to a few societial pressures, to Garrison Keillor godspelling the news on the radio, and finally, to the tiniest, most delicate of blooms on the spider-plant in the living room, and it just hit me that, no matter how little money I end up with, how hard the times may get, I just need to let things go.
How long I can let things go before they get too pressuring again, I don't know, but I'm not going to worry about that either.


Columbia has broken up. Hats off, boys; here's to you, you shining sailors of the heavens.


The following is a paid promotional announcement:
I've been well, thank you, although yesterday my truck decided at the last minute (as I got stuck in a marshy field) to just give up on the concept of having forward gears, and would only go in reverse, so that was fun. I
passed the 21 mark, which in the states, as you might know, means that I am a man (puts on yarmulke, recites Hebrew in a 13-year-old voice), so I went out and bought some Retsina (for when my first-sister (being Erica) finally arses her way up here), some Irish Crème (great in coffee or black teas) and a few pints of good, English stout (oatmeal stout, actually -- tastes like a bowl of oatmeal, looks like a pint of molasses with a head on it, you should try it). But enough bragging.

From an absolute pessimistic standpoint, it looks like there won't be an England trip this summer from the Uni. There's only 2 people signed up so far, and, with the exception of the European Studies group, which has 9.6
billion students in it, pretty much every summer study abroad tour is going bust. However, that's not going to stop ME from coming this summer: if I can get the funds together (and I have friends who, having friends being
rich, are willing to petition on my behalf), I'm going, and since I'm not actually held to any particular programme, I'll just wander all over Europa if I can manage it (i.e. London, Canterbury, Paris, Aachen (love those crazy
Carolingians), St. Gall, Venice, Ravenna, Roma, and the Vesuvian plain would be a nice itinerary, but that depends on funds and how much the TGV costs/goes).

That's all the news that isn't.

I brunched with Drew, Colleen, Stuart, Amy, and John. We talked about various things, just the general stuff. Drew noted -- while Colleen was off-screen -- that he had officially broken it off with Rachel, a move of which the Sybil in me approved. (It's a very small Sybil. Sybil: "I want to die!" Sorry. In-joke. Go read Petronius.)

I picked up the Key Book, Sennett's Flesh and Stone and intend to spend the rest of the day reading it, with a brief respite around 1630 or so to fry some fish, and perhaps do a page of Latin.

Speaking for the good of the British economy, I'd tax all foreigners living abroad.
I'd tax Raquel Welch, but I've a feeling she'd tax me.


I still haven't really read the Phaedo, but I do have a plan now to do all my readings for the next week on the weekend prior, freeing up my weekdays to do whatever needs to be done. I'm also still disappointed with the Mullins library, who apparantly think it's funny to say they have a book on the shelves, when they only have it in the stacks, and won't put it on the shelves until it's too late. I'm bloody going to have to order several of these books.
I actually saw Colleen Platt yesterday, when Drew showed up with her at Stuart's 25th birthday party. The rumours seemed to be true then, because they acted like people act when they're orbiting each other nervously in their first public appearance after a breakup and reunion.

SWM, 21, slightly heavy, seeking wealthy late-20's early-thirties british dowager to sweep me off my feet and take me to England for the rest of my natural life. Please call IMperium-326


Not much to say, you know? It's been quiet. I did Latin, and the readings for Rome on Film (including the write-up of Cabiria), and have steadfastly ignored the Phaedo, a situation I'm hoping to rectify soon. I've also been working up a readings list for the Thesis, and while I haven't gotten around to doing any actual READING, that, I hope, will soon change.
On an unrelated note, I am HIGHLY diappointed with Mullins library. Those bastards are as empty as junkie's head, and about as with it.
At least I had today off. I did very little, mind you, but I had today off.
Drew said he talked to Colleen Platt, which surprised me, but only midly, and I don't think I gave him the proper surprise response, but I grinned in all the right places. Very... interesting. He also wants to start up a "Latin-for-German" programme, (sounds like something from the UN), which I will be pleased with, as it means that, if we are successful, I can avoid taking German from the school. Multo bene!

God's Phallus.

Made you look.


Mi amici e amice,

I've switched out of "Technology & the Humanities", which was essentially everything I had in Commerical Art (for, I might add, two years), only updated, and I've been keeping up. I still can't animate, and that might be a problem -- maybe -- but we'll touch on that later on. Davo wants a website for Rome on Film, and I have the barest minimum of ideas for one, but it's good to have it now, and get it perhaps out of the way, or at least to a point where I can say, "HOLY SHIT I'VE GOT A 14-PAGE CONFERENCE PAPER DUE BY THE END OF THIS TERM" or something to that effect, because, well, I do. In the class into which I switched, being "St. Peter's Basilica", taught by the Fab Kim Sexton. Guess who encouraged me to go into SPB. Guess. Those of you guessing "Lynda Coon", you get bonus points.

So, yeah, let's see:
Comprehensive and well-researched/presented website;
14-page conference paper on some kind of aspect of St. Peter's;
Four 5-page papers for Rector Spellman in Neoplatonism & Early Christian Thought;
and all sorts of exams, songs-and-dances, and other choral routines for classes; AND
I have to have the smoothest rough beginnings of an Honors Thesis, by which is meant that a good majority of research is done by early May.

All this by the end of term. Hot damn, and thank God I can drink legally now, because I have a feeling that I may be doing a lot of it, since alcohol is the only legal stimulant available to me, and I don't really feel like breaking a law that can get me sent to HELL for the rest of my life.

Oh yeah, and it snowed three inches yesterday. Marvellous.

Zaphod Beeblebrox, this is a stiff drink. Hi. *gulp*


The oil leak was an unsealed gasket; we've got that fixed now. Classes are quiet, but look pretty good. A few rom. prospects, but aside from that it's standard fare. I've got Latin to do, and Plato and Suetonius and Imperial Projections to read. I meet with Coon tomorrow for Thesis Hour.

More on this as it develops.


Yes, Virginia, there is a St. Christopher. I'm here in F'ville, safe, WITH THE TRUCK. It's eating oil like there's no embargo, and I got locked out of of it this morning and ended up prying my way in with a screwdriver (through the sliding glass windows -- God bless older trucks). I'm safe, sound, hale and well, and I've got food, and most of my stuff unpacked. The folks are here, and we'll go to church tomorrow... it's nice. I'm feeling good again.

Standing there on main street, across from Mr. Blues,
My faded leather jacket, my weathered brogan shoes.
A chill north wind is blowing and the spring is coming on,
and I wondered to myself just how long I had been gone.
Then I strolled across old main street
walked down a flight of stairs,
stepped into the hall and saw that all my friends were there,
a neon sign was flashing "Welcome, Come on in"
Feels so good, feeling good again.
-- Robert Earl Keen, Jr. "Feeling Good Again".

Ahh... I say, Katerina, this bath you've drawn for me is lovely, simply SPLENDED! Good show!


Oi Kalloi:

I did some work for SR yesterday, and got paid. Checking my email this morning, I discovered a pay statement from the University that was $50 more than I was expecting, and that my bill for said University was less than my scholarships and grants by $1200 or so. In other words, I'm fairly set for the term, kiddos.

Turns out that's pretty good, because I may be having to change out a damn transmission soon, and I've GOT to get an air-breather for the truck before I go up. Picture this: on a 250 horse 4L Straight-six, I've got an air-breather FIVE inches in diameter. FIVE. Also I think the carbourator is either dirty or just bad. It is a Chevy, though -- it takes five minutes in the winter to decide that it has a transmission, which means until the engine's sufficently warm, I have to wait to go anywhere. But it runs. Four wheels and a seat.

I'm looking forward to going back. I really am. I think of that tiny apartment as a greater home than this house, though this has served me for far many more years than the other. Still, my parents are getting ready to move, ta to kyne, so I suppose I'd BETTER like the damn apartment.

I recovered Carlos' artwork from O Oikos, and intend to frame it and place it about the flat in appropriate places. Then I shul compleat feel.

My heroes have ALWAYS been cowboys. Yours were probably accountants.


Sadly, mi amici, mi parvissmi, duclissimi, agnissimi amici, the instrument cluster was not compatible with the rest of the truck, so we took out the spedometer, but that didn't work, so we fiddled around down below with the spedometer gear, until that worked, and then it was all right, except that it's making a few sounds it didn't make before, and has lots of fun new smells. Yay! I love this truck!

Nothing much besides, sad to say. I should be doing some things for S.R. soon, and that'll pay a few bills, and I got an email from Ross, and that'll pay... no, that was nice. Sorry.

Today's sign in which you are required to go forth and conquer is: ‡ Good luck!


Behold! This is the first post of the New Year. I myself am doing well, thank you, and have much to speak of you. Foremost:
* I have completed For Whom The Bell Tolls, and found it good, if somewhat of an ending much confusing. Waiting is; grok will I later.
* Only this very day I bought an instrument cluster for the truck; it contains not only a new fucking spedometer -- the gear was fine, thank you -- but all the other instruments I was seeking, plus the proper circuitry and perhaps a few fewer burnt-out lights.
* I've seen all the fun holiday movies now, like The Two Towers and Star Trek: Nemesis. There is, however, one trailer for some disaster movie that includes the massive, electrical (and implausible) destruction of the Flavian Amphitheatre. WHY? Why must they destry mi amicitia cive? I cry every time.
* I bought Dante's Commedia in parallel editions, for less than £15, tax included.
* I went in the attic and found many of the books I'd been missing over the years, and my old stuffed cat, MewMew. He needs stuffing, and a good cleaning, and I'll put him on the couch, where he belongs. I'm going to be fucking buried with that cat.

I'm doing all right. I'll survive. You... you go ahead. (cough) Just let me peg one last sonuvabitch. I'll get him. You... (cough) you go on ahead. GO!