Fellmama

David Woods is my bitch.

Edit, 8:34 AM:
Eleven and one-quarter pages.

Random 2 AM thoughts:

~The "gallbladder" has the funniest name of all organs.

~Therefore, it must be the seat of humor in the body. (Gallbladder = funny = location for funny.)

~Thus, when the gallbladder is removed, the sense of humor is removed also.

~Christy, don't let them take your sense of humor!

~Run, Christy, run!

I have abused the generosity of others. Now you can abuse mine.
Also, Rachel Reisenauer is a living goddess.

- comment and I'll pick one of your LJ interests and make you an icon.
- you have no say in what I make.
- put this in your journal so I can do the same

Edit, 11:12 PM:
And I will make icons even for those without icon-making capability, or for those without the time or energy to invest in making everyone else icons. So if you want one, do not hesitate! I think it will be fun.

Edit, 12/6/04, 10:19 AM:
I will make icons, but it will take me a while. Rest assured that I am working on yours as a diversion from my sem paper.

Article so boring . . .
Lj post instead!
Thanksgiving was fun. Didn't do any work over the break, which is bad. Didn't see any Muscovites except Andrea, either. Also bad.
I think I don't agree with this author. Take THAT, Sally-Ann Ashton! *stabs face*

I was so productive today. In the space of twenty-four hours, I attended two classes, read and translated six paragraphs of Greek, did a load of laundry, did the dishes, went to the grocery store, practiced, read for music history and studied for the listening quiz, read two articles, skimmed a book for my ASWC job, figured out pretty much what I'm taking next semester, signed up for an advising appointment, and picked up a bunch of Summit books. I spent three hours at the Writing Center, too, and made myself a quesadilla somewhere in there. I also watched Jeopardy.

Go me.

The library was packed. Well, packed for 12:15 AM. Busy week, I suppose.

My advisor's office is right underneath a light that is currently nonfunctional. I hope I spelled my name right, given that it was too DARK to check and SEE.

/end pointless post.

The week from HELL is over, and I have finally uncurled from the fetal position and taken my thumb from my mouth long enough to update. I got my Greek test back this morning--I owned it with a 97. I only hope that music theory will go so well. (I still can't face thinking about music history. So very, very cold . . .) On the upside of the week from HELL, due to the terrible convergence of tests, it is now clear sailing until Thanksgiving. I should really get started on some ancient sources for my Ancient Women paper. Anybody have a copy of Rufinius lying around?
We lost at College Bowl. *sad face* But Casey did well (congratulations again), so all hope is not lost. And there's always next semester.
A meme from Ruth:
"1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence in your journal...along with these instructions."
"The Rices could use the space."

Boring. Perhaps I should use a different page.

Ah, much better. Page 157:
"Despite his august position at the apex of the state's judiciary, he felt largely uninhibited by legal or ethical constraints, for at the turn of the century, codes of judicial conduct were scarcely contemplated."

Unexpected upside to having your friends scattered across the globe: e-mails and lj updates at unusual times. This provides amusement at all hours of the day. Perhaps I will invest in overseas friends for this purpose in future.

So I was in Moscow for a grand total of three hours today. It's so much more fally there than here--I never realize how much I miss that until October rolls around. For some reason, Minnie (one of our dogs) went CRAZY the moment I stepped inside--she herded me into the wall and howled for attention for half an hour. She's never done that before . . . The 'rents and I went out to lunch and then to the liquor store. I bought tiny bottles of chocolate vodka for Steph and I to try, at our friend Margo's recommendation. Dad contributed twenty cents to the purchase, which Mom called "Baby's first vodka." I didn't correct her.

Another example of my mother's ability to be breathtakingly insightful and utterly bizarre in the same gesture: her birthday presents to me were a magazine rack and a copy of America (the book): A Citizen's Guide to Democracy in Action. *shakes head in bewilderment*

My Amazon page just recommended the following things to me: T-Mobile Phones, Big Trouble (the movie), and the "Philips HeartStart Home Defibrillator." Because I've been doing a lot of searches related to my cardiac problems. WTF?

Warning: this post is me whining about schoolwork.

Ack. Stupid music history listening.
*mutters darkly*
We hates it, my precious! Well, not the music history. Or even the listening so much. But the having to identify is major suckage. I much prefer Pickett-style "cram it all in one night and get it over with" tests to Thompson-style "know five pieces really well 'cos I'll play different recordings and fuck with your heads" quizzes. Of course, the difference between, say, Webern and Bartok is much more readily apparent than the difference between Dufay and Josquin. To ME, anyway.
From our latest Greek reading: "And the Cyclops does not answer but springs at the Acheans; and he seizes two of the companions and bashes them upon the ground; and their brains flow out and wet the earth." We terrified a prospie's mother reading this aloud in Reid yesterday. And people say a liberal arts education isn't good for anything.

I thought I was going to have a lazy weekend, but I have to read six articles and prepare a presentation for Kyra. There goes my sleep.
Speaking of which, I've been distressingly insommniac lately. I don't know if four-day screwed with my internal clock or what, but sheesh. Not being able to sleep sucks.
Under normal circumstances, I would probably never admit this, but I love music history. Grove sez: "Ockeghem and his contemporaries believed that as far as the ordinary listener was concerned, the perfect canon, like the perfect crime, must not even be suspected, much less detected.
Composers took a sly pleaure in concealed ingenuity, occasionally forcing performers into a kind of guessing game. The directions for deriving the second voice . . . are sometimes only hinted at in an intentionally obscure or jocular fashion. Thus 'Clama ne cesses' (Shout without ceasing) means that the musicians must ignore the rests."
Or as in the third Agnus Dei from Dufay's Missa L'Homme armé: "Cancer eat plenus et redeat medius." Roughly translated, it means "Thus far as a crab and return at the middle." Real clear, Guillaume. Real clear.
Do you know this motet, rootlesscosmo? I've completely fallen in love with it.
Edit 11:23 PM: I just got stood up by Will. How sad do you have to be to get stood up by Will?

I haven't left the house in 48 hours.
I think something has gone seriously wrong in my head.