Monday, February 13, 2006
I composed a lengthy, action-packed entry detailing the tribulations concerning my research into the work of Manfred Korfmann (German director of excavations at Troy, who died of lung cancer last August), but Blogger neither published it nor saved it in draft form. The entire world loses as a result, for I am too upset and too tired to recall everything I had intended to convey.
In lieu of checking out books I might need for research (these all either nonexistent or unavailable), I sticky-fingered three tomes of classical scholarship written by Germans, with the intent to read these first in their entirety without looking up the words I cannot immediately translate. I also took something by Heinrich Schliemann, the first fifty pages of which I read last night in my tent bed and have already found to be quite a comic exercise. Without expounding too much, suffice it to note that the Hellenic and Roman ruins Schliemann coincidentally found in his digs for "the real Troy" were never destroyed by him accidentally. He was always either "forced" or "obliged", by what or whom he leaves unmentioned.
Tomorrow I must be a busy bee, with classes until twelve-thirty, a meeting with representatives of the Student Government Association around two forty-five, and sometime afterward a get-together with Megan to work on our Trojan War research paper bibliographies. Presently shall I vacate the library to fetch one of the German books from my dormroom, whence I shall scurry with said book clutched nerdily to my chest to read it on Javier at the student recreation center. Scandalously, I did find another bike machine that I have come to favor more than Javier. As of yet it has no name, but I think "Wolfdietrich" might be suitable.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 1:04 PM]