you brought it on yourself miss twiddle

On principle, I haven't friended any professor on facebook, but some of them have public profiles. And it's really weird to read their wall posts, and find names that I recognize because I read their articles writing things like "we must meet for drinks after APA this year" and so forth. Particularly when they are Shadi Bartsch people who are terrifying even to think about and read their scholarship.

I went to Scottish dancing tonight for the first time in ages (one of my regular piano rehearsal times is Friday nights, but tonight it was a bit earlier, so I got out in time). SO MUCH FUN. I managed to get Elderly Philosophy Prof/instructor's husband for the strathspey: dancing with a good partner is awesome, particularly when it is a slow and elegant dance.

I think I need to resign myself to being cranky whenever we start a new era in music history. It isn't so much the over-generalizations or dubious comments on things that bother me so much, like implying that everyone involved in the Wars of the Roses was named Henry,* as it is with the things that are JUST PLAIN WRONG. Like that Henry Tudor became Henry VIII. I suppose it's better that he's given incorrect information about things that aren't actually relevant to the class at all, but in that case, why does he even bother? (And a further NB to the professor: it isn't pronounced "GLOCK-es-ter.)



*I mean, isn't it more like 1/2 Henry, 1/4 Edward, 1/4 Richard, or maybe, 3/7, 2/7, 2/7? Or maybe 3/8, 1/4, 1/4, and 1/8 for people not actually named Henry, Edward, or Richard. I wonder what the proportions actually are, among the major Wars of the Roses players? Or in the Shakespeare plays.

We had lunch with V. today -- discussed septic systems, a truly fascinating subject. Is a phosphorus-removing filter really necessary for a seasonal camp? What are the benefits of a large holding-tank versus a leech-field versus a series of small tanks? It's odd to think about how much I know about septic systems. In third grade, I was the only one who got the teacher's joke about a septic tank.

I was reading The Mother's Companion this morning -- we seem to have a bound volume from some year in the 19th century, though I couldn't find a precise date. Every single issue is the same: an article about the importance of religous education for children, a story or two about death-bed conversions, some religious poems and a page of household hints (how to make Beef Tea, for example). Eventually the related the story of Augustine. Except not really. His conversion was presented like all the rest: he gets very ill and suddenly realizes he should trust in Christ. But Augustine as he presents himself isn't just a dissolute youth who receives a sudden revelation. He works his way to an intelluctual understanding of Christianity; he joins the church as a catchumen long before the moment of his conversion. I'm interested by instances like this: why take a very detailed, interesting story that is entirely appropriate already and change it? The anguish and indecision in the garden, and then the child's voice -- it's moving, much more so than another iteration of the same.

But then, I'm not sure that "they" would find the original story appropriate. It isn't easy enough, or pleasant enough, Augustine's experience. He struggles with belief and then with worldly temptations, and he knows that he will continue to struggle even after he has become a Christian. And this isn't the message that The Mother's Companion or very much of 19th century revivalist popular religion wants to have. It should all be sweetness and happiness and innocent children making saintly speeches as they go off to heaven. Augustine would have a field day.

And now a more positive nostalgia for the Victorians and Edwardians:

I'm reading the Anne books backwards. I think part of my trouble in college must be that I got my ideas about it from Dear Daddy Long-legs and Anne of the Island. (I am very quick to blame my reading habits for everything.) Neither Judy nor Anne has any anxieties over whether she'll be able to get into the class she needs to fulfill a distribution requirement, or worries about what major she should pick, or whether she'll be prepared to go to grad school. Gilber Blythe taks High Honors in Classics and then goes off to medical school. And of course one makes friends, goes for long walks and chats, joins clubs, and so on. And then all the girls go off to be either school teachers or secretaries, so I suppose there you are.

I am not having a good day, word-wise. I typed "ceiling wax" in my subject line, and wanted to start writing about "phosphorus philtres". Oy.

( Insert usual disclaimer involving Measure for Measure here )

Today was a good day for laughing in class. In Heroic Age, the professor told us that we could all go and practice our Skarphedin moves on the iced-over path from the Campus Center. He promised extra credit to anyone who could, after stopping to tie his (her) shoe, slide along the ice and knock someone's molars out.

Come to think of it, today was a good day for random extra-credit offers, as well. In Latin, he told us that it would be an automatic "A" for anyone who turned in a paper carved into stone. (This was during of a 20 minute digression on Wikipedia, copyright law, and the preservability of various forms of media, which ended in his warning us that sooner or later the world would descend anew into a period where learning was the provenance of only a very select few (!!!) and that he hoped for our sakes that it was either after our times, or that we were among that elite.) I still haven't decided whether or not to sign up for his FYSEM section next semester. It would probably be really interesting, but he made it sound like it will be really rigorous and unorthodox…

Today was an up and down day.

I slept through my alarm clock, which is quite scary. Particularly as I overslept an hour. Fortunately, even waking up at 8:00, I was able to practice for 45 minutes before grabbing a bagel on the way to Latin.

Latin was quite fun. He brought in an exerpt from Harrius Potter et Philosophi Lapis. The first Potions Class, to be exact. I got to read Snape. This was quite exciting, and I actually did a half-way decent job of reading, as far a prononciation is concerned. We skipped over to the dialogue between him and Harry, so I didn't get to do the monologue about how wonderful Potions is. But even still, it was quite amusing. I don't think it was a coincidence that he decided to give us Harry Potter the same day we filled out class evaluations, though.

I have just written the most inane conclusion of my career. No, really, I think that I have never done one this bad, this stupid, this blatantly "I-have-know-idea-what-this-paper-is-doing-so-I'm-going-to-restate-my-thesis-and-throw-out-a-few-unsupported-generalities-and-hope-that-no-one-notices."

It's embarrassing. I need to rewrite. But, unfortunately, I don't really know where my paper is going. The first two thirds are a compare-contrast of Mozi and Kongzi's differing views of human nature. The last third is pretty much a hypothetical dialogue between my dad and the two philosophers. No, you did read that correctly. And so, I have absolutely no idea how to conclude.

Also, Scott and I were discussing the Latin quiz after class today, and it was revealed that I quite likely screwed up one of the translations. And then I was thinking about it some more, and I realised that the professor doesn't put macrons over the letters. So it's quite possible that I mixed up the nominative and ablative at some point. Noooo! Because if I don't get a perfect good score, that means that I don't understand it… right?

Guess what I did last night? I danced. Scottish Country Dancing. And it was determined that I'm really really bad. But it was fun. I am definitely returning next week. Even if the fairly nice (gay, I think) guy in my dorm decided for some reason to go all Mr. Darcy when he was dancing with me. Even though he hasn't read Pride and Prejudice. I mean, come on, Scott. No, I can't dance. But you weren't all that great at figuring out which way to go either! Was there really any need to give that thin not-smile whenever I started to laugh because I had screwed up? And yes, it sucked being the fifth couple and having to wait out the set half the time, but, you know, that's just the way things happened. It was all for fun!