Danish Is "'Tard German"
Wednesday, August 30, 2006

The front tire of the bike Duane gifted me seems to have gone kaputt, for as I attempted to pump more air into it, the tire collapsed, flat. I knew not whether the tire went limp due to an irreparable hole, or if perhaps the pump I purchased had malfunctioned, or if perhaps I was too inept to properly operate the pump. Robbie drove me back to the Lauree Lair last evening after he got off work in order to help me assess the situation (I did not want to buy a new tire unnecessarily). He concluded I need to buy a new tube. Wunderbar.

Between swimming and riding Duane's bicycle, I have kept off ten pounds since the end of the spring semester. I now weigh about what I did at high school graduation, and do not therefore wish to deviate from this "active" routine, but it will be difficult between translating texts from three entirely different languages every day.

    [Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:29 PM]



Ich Bin Immer Noch Da
Monday, August 28, 2006

I am disappointed in The Birth of Tragedy content-wise, although it is somewhat useful to gauge Nietzsche's early style. He rambles at times about anything but the birth of Greek tragedy, and he certainly lacks the sort of modern methodological scholarship that I am accustomed to reading. There are also certain idioms and phrases that would sound fine and be forcefully effective in German but are awkward for English (e.g. he references this or that as being the "kernel" of something, where an English writer would more likely use "core", "center", "base", et cetera). Nevertheless I find The Birth of Tragedy more interesting than the Pussycat Dolls (featuring Snoop Doggy Dogg) video which played on VH1 this morning as I bike-ticized in front of the television stations.

Today marked the beginning of the school year. At fifteen after six this morning I rode my bike through partially-flooded streets (any Lubbock drainage system being a non-existent dream) to exercise at the student recreation center. Every morning before classes I have plenty of time to work out, take a shower, and eat some sort of breakfast, with enough time to read (depending on whether I also decide to swim).

I sat upstairs in the foreign language building, drinking down a Diet Coke as I studied Greek, until the seminar over Greek and Roman sculpture began at ten. I imagine it ought to be less demanding than the Trojan War seminar I took last spring, since the information for any research topic I might choose would be vastly more easy to locate. The textbooks, of course, have more pictures than text, as opposed to the odious alternative of proportionally greater text to illustrations. "What's the use of a book with no pictures in it?"

After art I trek across campus to sophomore Attic Greek with Steve. He integrated a basic review into the first few sessions, which ought to be enough for me to regain my ability to at least recognize forms in the passages we are reading. Saturday and Sunday I crash-reviewed the first several chapters of the textbook I used the past two semesters, which allowed me this morning to complete a noun paradigm at the board with no errors. No one of the other eight or nine people seemed any more prepared than I, for which I was thoroughly relieved. Steve assigned the first paragraph of the first chapter of Plato's Symposium, which I hope to at least begin this evening, if I am not too tired from biking back to The Lauree Lair.

My classes each Monday, Wednesday, and Friday thus end at noon, with a two-hour break until I am obligated to arrive at work, during which time I intend to complete the daily Greek assignment and perhaps run any errand or two. Today, however, I ate lunch with Adrian at a cheap (but muy bueno) Mexican restaurant. I accompanied her afterward as she entered a jewelry store to have a ring of hers resized, peering bemusedly into the glass cabinets as Dean Martin sang, "When the moon hits your eye, like a big pizza pie..." in the background.

Then I worked.

    [Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:06 PM]



Mein Haar Ist Kurz
Friday, August 25, 2006

Last week at the coffee shop I overheard a philosophy/Spanish/architecture student mention his friend needed a queen-size box spring. Happening just then to have one sitting in my yard (it having been displaced by a WAL*MART futon), I suggested he stop by later to pick it up. I apparently provided him with inept instructions, for upon arrival he demonstrated the cardinal directions of the planet on which we were standing by grasping my shoulders and turning me to face each of them.

Rather than brusquely collecting the box spring and driving into the Lubbock sunset (which lies due west of anywhere), he promised to call me sometime in order that we might wax philosophical. Thus this evening we sat at the coffee shop and discussed various things for about an hour before I met with the Germans to elaborate upcoming club plans.

Now have I made a second philosophy buddy (the first being the girl who TAed my philosophy class last fall). Wie süß.

    [Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 9:26 PM]



Du Bist Nicht Heiß, Junge
Thursday, August 24, 2006

This evening, as I chanted, "Chicky-chicky-chicky" over the chicken wings at work, I was again struck by just how much dignity I have lost since entering the labor force at the age of fourteen. Working at the place where I took piano lessons entailed much responsibility, but less loss of self-worth, than food service, which is for saps. "I do it for the free food," I console myself, but I nevertheless want to slit my wrists every time I smell fried chicken. I can never again enter a KFC. It is tragic, wie mein Leben.

Ich haße mein Leben.

    [Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 8:06 PM]



Thinking German Translation, Second Edition
Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Every day for the past week has produced rain at some point and in some great quantity, which has prevented me from swimming. I also have worked every day, but this afternoon I intend to cut my shift short in order to have swim time again.

Last night Paul showed me how to close the store, which should not be too complicated. On Saturday I am supposed to remain alone (as the only manager) to close all by myself. I just hope I remember to do the important things, such as shutting the safe and locking the door when I leave.

I am trying to finish Revenge in Attic and Later Tragedy before school begins Monday. If I have enough time, I then hope to start some Nietzsche (though I doubt this goal will be fulfilled, for I must review languages, which might occupy all of Sunday).

Until I receive grades, I will be almost bored.

    [Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:16 AM]



Vindicta Mihi
Thursday, August 17, 2006

Last Thursday Adrian helped me move my belongings from the dorm to The Lauree Lair, and since then I have been gradually arranging the place to suit my habits. Wholly I am satisfied, but I have encountered minor irritations:

The toilet seat forms a more rounded than oval shape, which, surprisingly, does not correspond well with the shape of my arse, resulting in some discomfort when I must remain sitting there for any prolonged period. This problem has occurred often already, since at work every morning this week I have eaten home-made burritos prepared by Tammy, a fellow employee. Real Mexican food is muy bueno, but corrosive to the digestive tract.

The laundromat next to the coffee shop a block from my domicile shut down a few months ago, which means I must travel every week with my laundry seven or eight blocks to the next laundromat, toward the south side of town. Lacking a car therefore makes the execution of such a simple task as detoxifying an accumulated pile of work uniforms and sweaty work-out clothes particularly difficult. Most of my friends drive, of course, but I am loathe to impose on someone every single week. Thus I have decided to make an especial trip to Target or WAL*MART to invest in a Radio Flyer or something similar.

Jim had the house sprayed for insects, but I have had already to do battle with several gigantic, man-eating spiders. Last night a roly poly stood below and quietly observed while I urinated, which was a little discomfiting. I typically do not "freak out" when I see little buggies, but I have no desire to make friends or live with them, either.

I stopped working for the residence hall Saturday and began coming into Sam's between eight and nine every morning this week beginnning Monday. Half of my co-workers are Hispanic (and older)- they love to cook and they love to eat, and I have benefited every morning from their generous, hospitable natures. I probably would have lost more weight this week, since I've worked out every morning and late every afternoon, but the burritos have kept me at the same level. I suppose I don't mind too much, provided I don't gain. Saturday morning (the last shift before the store opens officially for customers) I would like to bring something in the way of home-cooked foodage, but most of my cooking experience lies in the realm of desserts (not that anyone would mind). The only thing I know how to make that no one else could just as easily make themselves is the carrot cake my mother made, but it would require pans I lack at the moment and would leave leftover, spoilable ingredients that I would probably not use immediately. Hopefully I will find something at the store this afternoon or tomorrow to solve this minor dilemma.

    [Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 9:39 AM]



When The Dog Bites
Wednesday, August 09, 2006

All through the afternoon, until about midnight, I cleaned grime off the wall of the apartment that contains (from left to right) the stove, a double sink, and a half-size refrigerator, with cabinets above and below the sink and above the stove. I scrubbed the cabinets themselves, inside and out, plus the oven and the refrigerator. Nothing was too dirty, but the entire set-up is painted white, which means that every spot is perfectly visible to my discerning eye and leaves me with the inability to function with the knowledge that there is a smudge of dust here and there. I'm such a good little cleaner. Then I stocked everything (dishes, mints, pantry items) with the result that at least one wall is complete.

This afternoon I am set to scrub down the bookshelf (again- not filthy, but just dirty enough to irritate me), the walk-in closet, and hopefully the bathroom. I might begin the yard, but that will probably have to wait until tomorrow. The yard requires much raking, collecting of sticks, and perhaps the removal of a gigantic cross propped in the fork of one tree. The cross is made of two wooden two-by-twos, and it doesn't appear to be supporting the tree in any way. Another cross, covered in purple candle wax, adorns the space to the right of the front door. These and other odd decorative items must be removed, but I should probably wait until Jim returns (he went out of town for a week) before touching anything.

Also sitting in the yard are two toilets. Not one toilet- two toilets. I would like to clean them up and perhaps pose them, for in their present condition, they simply look "ghetto". Currently the entire yard looks ghetto-rific: abandoned flower pots, rusty yard tools, part of a car hood, glass bottles, wire fencing, tree branches and twigs, leaves, two toilets, three or four trash cans of various sizes and colours, a heavy sink, a dirty bird bath... The walkway approaching from the side of the house to the attachment I live in consists of wooden planking, which becomes a nicer, but uneven and in places uprooted, grey stone path. But it is my ambitious desire to find some sort of awning to cover the wooden section, to evoke the feeling that one is approaching a cave or a lair- The Lauree Lair, to be precise.

Mwah-hah-hah.

    [Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 10:36 AM]



A Grown-Up In Cookie Monster Slippers
Monday, August 07, 2006

Yesterday I went back-to-school shopping with Bianca, specifically for a Victoria's Secret bra and eleven pairs of socks (nine of which were discounted) from Old Navy. Unfortunately, we wandered into Barnes and Noble, where I felt compelled to make a few back-to-school purchases that consisted of Arthur Marx's Groucho (a "photographic journey" of his father), and three little things by Nietzsche: Thus Spake Zarathustra, The Birth of Tragedy, and Tragedy in the Greek World. I need the latter three on my shelf, and the former will set nicely on my kitchen table, for guests selected to enter the Lauree Lair to peruse.

    [Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 12:22 PM]



Es Ist Nicht Leicht, Ein "Lauree" Zu Sein
Saturday, August 05, 2006

Early this evening I arrived at the pool to swim laps, but had to wait on the bleachers until a lane opened up. Erstwhile I read a library book, glancing up occasionally to gauge lane availability, and at an early point caught sight of Der Grair Bär, who entered and sat at a farther end of the bleachers perpendicular to mine. Natürlich hat er mich geseht, weil ich immer wieso ein "sore thumb" stehe aus. We played an unspoken game of "if-I-pretend-not-to-notice-the-other-person-perhaps-the-other-person-will-not-see-me".

I think I won, though. Der Grair Bär always makes the point of coming by the Flinstone bench to frighten me speechless with such complicated German as "Wie geht es bei dir?" and "Was lesen wir heute?" As I sat primly in my black-and-purple swimming suit, eyes squinted nearly shut against the dangerously intense Lubbock sun and sweat dripping down my face, chest, and back, I hid the self-satisfied smirk on my face with my book as I thought to myself, Come "Guten Tag" me in your swimming trunks, Dr. Grair- I dares ya.

    [Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 7:33 PM]



There May Be Honor Amongst Thieves
Thursday, August 03, 2006

This morning I took the physical anthropology final exam, as well as the final quiz of the lab section, in about twenty minutes. I bought the Greek lexicon (das ist ungeheuer), the other books for the Greek class, and the two books required for the seminar on Greek and Roman art. I nodded off as I read the preface from the 1927 edition of the lexicon and, though I expected the rest of the text to be thrilling, I shut this massive tome and fell asleep on the Flinstone bench for about forty-five minutes. Dann hab' ich mich viel besser gefühlt.

Accompanying Adrian on various errands relating to her move between apartment complexes proved fruitful in the sense that I consumed Tex Mex and about sixty ounces of carbonated beverages between trips to both apartments, Wal*Mart, and Adrian's brother's house, which must contain some unapparent labryinthine network, for there were beer bottles "arranged" on the floor, on tables, in corners, throughout every room, perhaps coded somehow to lead Adrian's brother and his housemates back to civilization after their nightly revelries.

Jim (the senectarian from whom I am renting the apartment) came by to drop off the key before he leaves this weekend to help his daughter straighten a lawsuit in which she is involved. Jim is "crazy woo-woo" religious, to convey his personality in Aprilean terms- he refers to "the power of prayer" and miracles throughout our meetings, among various other odd habits. Foremost among these is the odious fact that he is a "hugger", one completely oblivious to my obvious aversion to hugginess and other such expressions of affection. He is very, very nice, and very, very unstable.

Tomorrow I hope to begin moving things.

    [Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 10:24 PM]



Almost Grown
Wednesday, August 02, 2006

If I am to continue studying ancient Greek, I shall require a thorough lexicon. Nevertheless, this useful investment costs nearly as much as the fall Greek course itself. In addition to the two hundred-dollar lexicon, I must also purchase The Greek New Testament and a Greek copy of Plato's Symposium. Oi weh.

Last night I could not fall asleep. I had nothing particular weighing on my mind, just excess energy. I went for a walk near the dorm I lived at freshman year and fell, after having been attacked by a step lurking in the shadows below my feet. I crashed to the ground, landing on my palms and knees, and looked around with what must have been a most comical expression of bewilderment on my face as I caught my breath.

My hands incurred little damage, but my right knee scraped open and became embedded with fibers from my jeans, as I discovered upon examination later. These blue fibers expressed odd reluctance to depart from my skin as I attempted to separate the two during my shower this morning.

Ach! -mein ärmes Haut! I shrieked inwardly, during the process of fiber removal. The wound has yet to scab over, despite having been neatly covered with a generous layer of Neosporin and a bandaid that adheres rather two well to my skin. I am on Bandaid Number Two, having ripped off and replaced Bandaid Number One (with further semi-coherent expletive exclamations auf Deutsch). Practical applications of the German language lend themselves especially well to expressions of pain, fear, and agitation.

All this morning and afternoon I have experienced unusually high physical energy again and meant to expend it on reading a second book of essays (by several different authors) regarding the interpretation of the Greek tragedies, but managed to squander the time allotted me between lecture and lab with devouring a turkey sandwich (bread choice: croissant; cheese choice: Pepper Jack) and a chocolate shake. Beiden haben mir gut geschmeckt: the sandwich was "divinely decadent". After finishing my shift at the office, I shall journey forth for my current evening routine of working out and swimming. I can read on Javier.

    [Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 1:49 PM]



Was Hab' Ich Dir Getan
Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Yesterday before anthropology class I sat in the courtyard reading my latest library book, which contains about a dozen essays written by an analyst of Greek tragedies. Having become well-absorbed, I valiantly ignored the intense Lubbock wind whipping my freshly-washed, silky-smooth hair above my head and every other which-way in which it is possible to make hair fly. Just another ten pounds, grimly thought I, before I shave half my head again and thereby lessen by approximately the same amount the irrational anger I experience every time I step out-of-doors. Ich haße Lubbock.

That essay (forty-five pages devoted to "The Two Worlds of Euripedes' Helen") I completed at my usual post in the foreign languages building. Dr. Grair came by to ask, "Was gibt es neues?" I pointed at the book title and stammered something about "griechische Tragödien". Der Grair Bear renders me speechless, the reasons for which remain hidden in the ever-vast recesses of my mind. He neither imposes nor intimidates, but he somehow manages to spirit away any knowledge of German or English I might have. It is infuriating.

I read the next essay (shorter by about half than the previous), "Pentheus and Hippolytus on the Couch and on the Grid", riding Javier. I had ridden Dieter for about forty minutes beforehand, and afterward I swam a full twenty laps (mentionable especially because I had wanted to clamber out of the pool again after only one). Upon my return to The Lauree Lair I began the next essay, "The Self and the Mysteries in the Bacchae" before putting myself to bed early, with the knowledge that I would arise early to work in the office, where I have eaten a wholesome breakfast of eggies, sausages, and yoghurt as I finished the essay.

The essays are interesting, and contain cross-references innumerable that I will never have the time to read. Natürlich.

    [Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:34 AM]