Friday, June 30, 2006
I finished The Picture of Dorian Gray yesterday afternoon. It has induced me to rather wish I owned a divan, onto which I might fling myself when in a petulant mood. I also want jewels- jade, amethyst, pearls, and opal. I recall long ago having read a Muppet Babies book in which the Muppet Babies use their imaginations in the nursery to have an adventure in search of lost treasure. The "treasure" was jelly beans, or brightly-coloured rocks, or something, but being now far older, I would prefer to find real jewels.
Jeremy (er hat zwei Hauptfächer: Deutsch und Psychologie) recommended I read Bahnwärter Thiel by Gerhart Hauptmann. I have neglected German this summer, so finding the story at the library this afternoon will be my latest endeavour. I might read it in translation first, though.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 1:30 AM]
Frog Of My Heart
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Monday I read Crabwalk in its entirety. Yesterday I began the introduction to The Picture of Dorian Gray, but went no further because I needed to study a little for the entomology lab and lecture finals. I anticipate a "B" for the class, which is acceptable enough, considering I only put in about that much work. Dr. Thorvilson told me I was a good student, which made Lauree glowy inside.
Monday afternoon I sat at my usual perch on the bench in the foreign languages building, snout buried in Crabwalk, when Dr. Larmour (the Classics graduate advisor) subtly placed a flier before me as he passed by. It advertised a symposium for a comparative literature course, at which two of the Classics graduate students were to read. 'You should attend ["should" in the sense of "must"].' Yesterday as I sat among the tiny audience, dutifully and diligently prepared to take notes, Dr. Larmour approached and said, 'By the way- be sure to ask questions.' Wunderbar, habe ich gedacht.
Travis wrote something entitled, "Clarifying Catharsis: On Golden's Intellectual View of Catharsis in Aristotle's Poetics". Steve read a slightly more straight-forward paper: "The Reality of Freedom and Power in Camus' Caligula". Questions aplenty arise at these sorts of readings, but mine are not necessarily as pertinent as they might be, and I encounter severe difficulty in trying to formulate an inquiry about something I have not read myself. I asked Steve, at least, whether he had encountered any instances of the historical Caligula perhaps enacting moralizing legislation, in seeming contradiction to the character of him as presented by Seutonius and Camus. I found nothing immediately refutable in Steve's paper itself: he writes and speaks well. Travis posed a greater problem, because he writes ambiguously, somehow (despite having a clearly stated thesis).
Dr. Larmour commented afterward, "See? One can always find something to ask." Ugh. As long as I get Brownie points.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 2:46 AM]
To Be Seen And Not Heard
Monday, June 26, 2006
I finished The Reign of the Phallus and decided to begin something of a more "literary" bend, Crabwalk (which won the Nobel Prize for Literature, making it most assuredly something "literary"). I googled briefly the basic background for the story, which sets it around the sinking of a German ship torpedoed by Soviets at the close of the second World War. The story occurs through an account of three generations of a fictional family. Im Krebsgang soll sehr gut sein.
Aside from beginning Crabwalk heute nachmittag ich muß Entomologie studieren.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 4:00 AM]
You Probably Think This Song Is About You
Sunday, June 25, 2006
Theoretically, I might finish The Reign of the Phallus sometime this evening, depending on how much time I devote to the study of entomology this afternoon. Dr. Thorvilson needs to finish the semester early in order that he might begin research work with imported red fire ants (projected to consume all of July), which means both the lecture and the lab exams fall on Tuesday, rather than the regular finals period of Friday or Saturday. Today I probably ought to start reviewing the notes.
The severe pain in my right foot distracts from my reading. I suppose it to be some sort of bone bruise, which aches even when no pressure is applied. Every three weeks since graduating high school, I have regularly gone gimp. Ich weiß nicht warum. Perhaps I ought to cease walking entirely. Or I could acquire a cane.
Yesterday I ate at Saigon as planned with Jennifer, Sharada, and Steve, which was particularly pleasant because Sharada had plenty of stories to relate (which meant I had little need to interject with any anecdotes from the stock I keep for conversational purposes). The slightest nudge always sets Steve off about something he has found curious, upsetting, or remarkable lately, which sometimes provides a welcome respite from me having to fill a dialogue with complaints about my job, my body's recent tendency to go kaputt for absolutely no reason, my financial situation, the soul-less Schweinehund who calls himself my father, or the thirty-five mile an hour Lubbock wind (which whips my hair to ruin after forty minutes of coiffing just to have gotten it to the level of "bad"). Sharada and I spent a few minutes at Steve's house afterward to listen to a song he wrote and to be shown his impressive pumpkin patch. He offered us fresh dill, but I rejected his dill.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:22 AM]
The Other Green Meat
Saturday, June 24, 2006
At the beginning of the semester Dr. Thorvilson (my entomology professor) promised to bring baked mealworms, which task he fulfilled Thursday, having ordered them from an insect candy shop. They taste like Fritos and come in barbeque, cheddar cheese, and Mexican spice flavours (the "Mexican spice" have a taste similar to chili). One little box contains only nine calories, which makes this the perfect snack replacement for dieters weary of celery sticks and baby carrots. Next I want to try chocolate-dipped crickets. Sehr gut.
Monday I mailed a birthday gift (two t-shirts) to my littlest brother, Eddie Bob. I hope he relishes them, because for Christmas, the kid is getting chocolate-covered ants.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 1:19 PM]
Ich Bin Ein Schlechter
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Dr. Lavigne has begun setting up a new website for Classics courses and the Classical Society webpage. Having himself designed the layout, he made the unfortunate error of requesting criticism from Adrian and me. We restricted ourselves to suggesting he perhaps change the font, with a further comment from moi about his misspelling of "archaeology" (as "archeology", which is an accepted alternate, but only by uncultured swine, i.e., the same people who might allow the pronunciation "for-tay" for forte in nonmusical contexts). The site is coloured hideously and navigable only with difficulty. I suppose I shall remain silent, though, as compiling a list would consume time I would rather spend elsewise.
Adrian informed me Sharada will carpool the four of us (Jennifer ist Nummer Vier) to eat at an establishment called "Saigon" this weekend. What little I know about Saigon consists of information from war movies and an eleventh grade U. S. History textbook, but I have eaten at the restaurant once before and found the fare acceptable. It would be cheaper than buying food to prepare a whole dinner, more than likely.
I burned the index finger of my left hand with a hair-curling iron.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:45 PM]
Two Hundred Thirty-Eight Cheerleaders
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Yesterday a cheerleading camp checked in, causing undue woe to office staff, Croix in particular. He at one point had to accompany a girl upstairs and explain that when she inserted the key to her room into the lock, she had to then turn the key to unbolt the door. She had apparently come down, panicked, supposing the key had broken, after she had only been rotating the doorknob. Reason enough never to bear children.
Ich muß Griechisch studieren.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 4:16 AM]
Oh, Ghost Of Magellan
Monday, June 19, 2006
Last night I inordinately ate tuna, and feel consequently this morning bloated and over-heated. I had agreed to play Frisbee Golf with a couple of my supervisors (to burn off dinner), but Megan (the office intern) did not knock on the door of The Lauree Lair until ten, which is bedtime for little Lauree, at least when Lauree works at four the next morning.
We made a run to TARGET after dinner, where I finally found a decent, relatively affordable baseball glove. Though I have never in any real organized capacity played baseball, it is the one sport I enjoy watching enough to know a little (very little) about. Anyhow, since coming to college an itch to at least play catch every once in a while has nagged at my bones, but I had not invested in a glove, since the ones at the sports stores cost zu viel and do not close properly. The one I came upon snaps shut as though it is already half-worn in, and it being the only one of its kind there, that I purchase it, with diminished funds, seemed fated.
Between swimming with Jenni and rock-climbing with Sharada and Kathrin this weekend, I have been reading The Iliad, from a good translation that is not literal but not "modern", either. The book cover has a gentle texture I rather like, with pages therein smooth and thin as well. After I finish The Iliad sometime in the next few days I plan to begin Reign of the Phallus, to which I have been recommended by Sharada and which cannot possibly prove unentertaining.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 2:39 AM]
What The Hedgehog Knows
Saturday, June 17, 2006
Yesterday I sternly forced myself to remain upstairs in the foreign language building from three until six, reading through most of the book about Greek vases (which I finished later in the evening). I had developed a headache around lunchtime and consequently found it possible to concentrate on the text only by lying on the floor, arms straight in the air, with the book hovering directly over my face. Observing this, the departmental secretary remarked, as she left, that she expected to one day find me nailed to the floor. I see no remote possibility in me ever being "nailed", in any manner, to any thing, but then, I suppose Ms. Hildebrand had an entirely different meaning in mind.
Donning my purple-and-black swimming suit on these afternoon sessions with Jenni does much to reinforce the above notion. In further reflection I over-exaggerate, though, for there do exist this summer a goodly number of less-attractive pool-frequenters. "I can always lose the weight..."
The past few Saturday evenings I have spent movie-watching with Sharada, Jennifer, and Adrian, with (thus far) either Sharada or Adrian providing foodage. For this evening Adrian promised to provide a sort of chicken "surprise", about which I expressed some apprehension. Adrian allayed my fears with the assurance this dish contains cream cheese and a possibility for pasta. We are to watch Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead and perhaps one other selection.
I volunteered to cook dinner for next week's gathering, but am currently at a loss for a viable subject. I considered incorporating tuna in some manner, but later reneged, as the other three people eating probably would not appreciate it as uniquely as I do. Tuna as an option with a side dish of spinach-leaf salad is plausible.
Ich liebe den Thunfisch.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:11 AM]
Two Consecutive Defensive Driving Sessions
Friday, June 16, 2006
Many authors of books on classical subjects I have read lately write their scholarly tomes directly from the lectures they give as professors, which irritates me to no small extent. Had I wanted a lecture, I might have moved to Cambridge or Florida or Pennsylvania to listen to one. Happily, the classicist who wrote the study of early Greek vases I am currently reading deviates from this obnoxious trend. 1927 being the date of his birth, he presumably presents research without total dependency on Power Point.
Not being able to write capable English frustrates me. I hardly have time to practice writing anything earnestly. My weblog posts are usually mere laundry lists, written in the stilted language of my speech or the disconnected patterns of my thinking. Since I seldom read anymore and rarely engage in serious discussion with friends (as these both necessitate time), I feel much less able to articulate anything with as much directness as I could at fifteen. I content myself with describing most things as "doubleplusungood".
When I grow up, I am going to be Stephen King.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:32 AM]
Pippi Longstocking
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
I received the highest grade on the entomology exam. What a good child am I. But today after lunch I must visit the financial aid office to ascertain whether this class has indeed been paid for, for the website does not reflect that my grant has been applied.
Other than regular swimming sessions with Jenni, I have done little of note since the weekend. I read often, but still have trouble focusing.
Ich bin kaputt.
| Your Inner European is French! |
 Smart and sophisticated. You have the best of everything - at least, *you* think so. |
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 3:28 AM]
The Proudest Prayer A Boy Could Give
Saturday, June 10, 2006
This afternoon I paddled and panted my way through a water fitness class with Jenni. She suckered me into attending with the lure of free ice cream afterward. The instructors also gave away small tubes of chapstick, but I passed them over, as they were not edible. The other reward consists of a slight sunburn to the shoulders, which I might not notice if my bra strap didn't constantly chafe it. Dadgum bra.
I then spent the evening with Jennifer and Sharada, watching Amadeus at Sharada's apartment. I adore everything about the film, especially the perfectly accentuated music. Sharada owns the director's cut DVD, which I had not seen previously (the picture quality much improved from VHS). It contains a scene, whereinwhich Salieri lures Constanze to his house/apartment, that massively alters my perception of Salieri's character, at least with regard to his sexual lust. It also clarifies Constanze's vehement anger upon finding Salieri asleep at her house before Mozart dies.
The DVD version of Amadeus has changed my life.
This morning I finally began the first installment of the massive summer Latin review I had pledged myself to complete before fall, at which time I begin reading portions of Vergil with Dr. Holland. Dr. Holland provides a wealth of historical background during readings, but the work he assigns usually requires only medium or even minimal effort, so that I wonder whether I've actually imbibed the material as I should. I might simply misjudge his intentions, though- perhaps he only expects students to be more self-motivated. I nevertheless view his willingness to be flexible with some ambivalence. Rather than put an unprepared student on the spot, he often leads him or her through the exercise. That would be fine enough at the beginning of the semester, but he allows people to squeak by, or so it would seem, through the entire course. But oh, well. A GPA booster from a senior level course should be received with silent gratitude.
I am also disappointed that Steve (a graduate student) rather than Dr. Lavigne will teach my Greek classes. Steve is passionate, but Dr. Lavigne already knows how to teach and would be more thorough. Plus, having a class with him would make being Dr. Lavigne's Pirschjägerin less of a task.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:17 PM]
And Still Have Begged For More
Thursday, June 08, 2006
I climbed the rock wall with Sharada and Kathrin (one of the native German graduate instructors) Wednesday, felt only mildly sore yesterday, and this morning can barely move. Tense areas consist mainly of my arms, upper back, and the muscles at the side of my torso. I assume this shan't happen too often, if I continue going every other weekday. I might become serious about this rock-climbing business, considering it is non-contact and only involves another person holding the other end of the rope (or vice versa). This week I did not have time to take the certification class, but next week I should finish, and then Sharada won't have to find another partner every time we go.
The first entomology exam occurs this morning at ten o'clock. I feareth not, for it is open-book and I am confident about my knowledge of the material. Afterward I will probably nap and either visit the financial aid office or run some other errands. Taking only one class with a simultaneous reduction in work has proved a much more affable arrangement in contrast to the academic year nightmare. In fall I will pay.
I finished reading The Clouds, which disappointed greatly after having read Lysistrata (by the same author). I sense a poor translation foremost and a weaker story base second. Apathy toward (or ignorance of) the characters probably colours my view. The conclusion is analagous to that I held after reading Fahrenheit 451: great subject, inadequate method of communicating the point.
But oh, well. More things to read abound.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 11:30 PM]
We Are Tired Of Being Ignored
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Yesterday I had few pressing commitments and therefore, at least theoretically, a gargantuan amount of time in which to read the early evening away. However, my sinuses decided my four to seven-a.m. office shift would be the most opportune time to flare up as far as possible without blowing my upper skull apart. Tylonel proved ineffective.
The pain lasted the entire day. I could hardly concentrate on the hilarious videos about arachnids and select other arthropods during entomology class. I ate lunch with Adrian and tried afterward to begin reading The Clouds (by Aristophanes) between then and the entomology lab, but my head was pounding so that I simply collapsed on one of the Flinstone benches (they look like and are about as comfortable as slabs of concrete) upstairs in the foreign language building.
I told Sharada I would have to blow off our rock-climbing date, and I considered also playing hooky from lab, but I literally turned on my heels mid-path and went to class, like a good egg. If the professor assigns homework, it would probably only be during a lab. Fortunately, we merely viewed five or six different bugs on slides, as an introduction to learning how to focus the equipment properly. I was eternally grateful that the period required no analytical thought on my part, because it felt as though my forehead was attempting to give birth to some hideous alien being. Usually I just think of those as my thoughts, but this one hurt.
At this point I really did desire nothing more than to curl up with The Clouds, but I lay me down in The Lauree Lair instead until the time arrived for walking to The Rec for another swimming session with Jenni. Not seeing her (I discovered later she had left just as I arrived), I spread out on the bleachers for about fifteen or twenty minutes, until a lane finally opened. I swam five laps with a kickboard and felt much better; I would have stayed longer, but I was a little shy about sharing the lane with someone (an older, forties-ish gentleman).
I returned to my bed at The Lauree Lair around six-thirty and did not vacate that spot for anything other than the relief of my bowel movements until three-thirty this morning. I finally began reading the play during the present office shift, and I suspect already that the version I have might not be the most apt translation ever produced, but it suits well enough to familiarize me with the basic storyline. Later, when I read the Greek, I'll have a better appreciation for it.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 4:12 AM]
When I Was A Young Warthog
Monday, June 05, 2006
I applied online for a few library positions still available, as I need extra money to pay for academic year room and board, and books, and tuition, and my rock 'n' roll lifestyle. At work we arranged desk schedules for the rest of the month, leaving me with plenty of time to take a second job somewhere.
But in the meantime, I have been swimming with Jenni, playing racquetball with Bianca, and tomorrow I am to go rock climbing with Sharada. Wahnsinn. I read Schliemann intermittently this afternoon, between class and the staff meeting. Fortunately, my entomology professor assigns no written homework, at least not on a daily basis. Any homework would consist of completing labs, with, ich glaube, a couple of projects over the course of the semester. Ausgezeichnet.
Anyhow, now that the first full week of school has begun, I am pleased to settle into a routine again. During the past fall and spring, I had absolutely no time to collect my thoughts and focus entirely either on tasks at hand or future planning. Work and school did improve considerably during the spring, though, so that I regained some semblance of sanity. Last fall I was a nervous wreck.
Now I must call April and colour a picture to send her parents, for their fridge.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 4:41 PM]
It Was A Copy Of Moby Dick
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Yesterday I had the entire evening to eat dinner and watch movies with Sharada, Adrian, and Jennifer. Seven hours of... time... A wholly foreign but pleasant concept. We first ate insta-spaghetti, which tastes better than it sounds, and next watched Donnie Darko. I fail to see it needed to become a supposed cult classic within five years of production, but I did like it well enough.
Adrian had not seen Fried Green Tomatoes, which is sacrilege. It was entertaining to watch her catch on to the demise of Buddy. I feel now a certain urge to watch Driving Miss Daisy, which I haven't seen in years, either. And since April bought me the soundtrack, Amadeus must again be viewed.
I am taking one class and only spend twenty hours of my week at work. People exist who do this for entire fall and spring semesters, which must be sehr schön... I would be a terrible student if I had this much time to my own devices during the academic year.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 5:22 AM]
The Anus Develops First
Saturday, June 03, 2006
I acquired a couple of books about early Greek vases, the first of which I read, for the most part, during my office shift from four o'clock a.m. to ten o'clock a.m. Being an intoductory technical guide, it is not so much to be read as to be perused for glossy images. The greater portion of the book consists of two glossaries, one of potters and painters, the other of terms. I found the last most helpful, for I tend to confuse the dozen or more vessels used for preparing, serving, and drinking wine.
Yesterday I met with a few members of Deutscher Klub to discuss plans for next year. Despite the fact that I am no longer an officer, I somehow have been suckered into writing an e-mail to the faculty sponsor (who was not present) about the meeting and about information the club president needs. That will be all the more tedious, because I only paid half-attention to anything said. But I agreed, as the president's e-mail account appears not to be servicing properly, but also as the president happens to be a very tall, very persuasive German. His guile is ruthless.
Incidentally, we held this meeting at a coffee house across the street and a few houses down from the domicile of Der Grair Bear and Dr. Fry. I looked the other direction, toward the grocery store, and contemplated the many uses of eggs. Out loud, I suggested we knock on the door and run. Tamme (der Präsident) expanded to inviting ourselves to dinner. We did neither, of course, but knowing where my professors live gives me an entirely different perspective of them. Their grocery store looks a little trashy; it probably sells expired eggs.
April would find the following side note interesting: I rode the bus to the coffee house and, in stepping off, saw none other than Dr. Lavigne sitting outside at one of the tables, cigarette ever-present and reading an article. I had only last seen him at his office three hours before, and then I had remained inside the building to colour entomology diagrams. I sat at the table next to his and swore I wasn't following him. I doubt he believed me.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:06 AM]
Am Dritten Tag
Friday, June 02, 2006
I apparently registered for the "for education majors only" section of introductory entomology, which only has about eight other students (one horticulture major; the rest are majors in Human Development and Family Studies). When the professor mentioned this section would not compile a bug collection, I raised my hand and asked to be permitted to stay. This he quite readily allowed, remarking he was glad I am in the class (words to eat later), for I comment every once in a while on the derivation of this or that genus or species name.
The professor, notably, cares about fostering education, providing a stimulating environment, encouraging comment and inquiry, etc. On the first day of roll call, he listened to us explain our majors and told us about his own family, his research, and so forth, but all in something of a more personable manner than exercises of this sort in other classes typically involve. He covers a vast amount of material during lecture, but he is thorough and well-paced. I sat for two hours through descriptions of the characteristics of the main phyla, but never checked my watch. I am genuinely pleased as punch to be in the class, especially since I also have enough time to devote some study to it.
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 2:44 AM]