Your MOM posts!

More than you do, apparently. You wonder if it’s because she doesn’t have to read the worlds longest Highland romance portraying an insipid hero (enter Waverly), but then you realist that its your mom – she does everything.

Anywho. Apart from the glories of Walter Scott I’ve been exploring other literary wonders as well. On Monday I fell off the face of the earth to prepare for a James Hogg presentation that I perhaps should have started sooner. On Thursday I had to give a 10 minute presentation with two other students (we were unofficially called “the Hogg people” which fortunately didn’t reflect on our intelligence) and after talking with one of them and hearing of her uber-preparedness I was kindof nervous.

Anywho, after several midnights of coffee and Horlicks (don’t snort until you have tried this powder of destiny yourself – sleep helping, woo badger!) the final copy was printed exactly .29 minutes before I had to walk out the door. Needless to say that hurry didn’t help my jitters and my notes written on the train weren’t really legible at all. But I felt a little better when we all sat down and presenters and audience alike coughed the same choke-snort-cough thing. These weren’t the guys to tear into me. The long and short of it was that the Lord was really gracious helping me write and present, and our tutor was well impressed (as an Irish gal said it).

And now we’re in the throws of theatre class as well, and I’ve been to two of my five required plays for this semester. This was something that I wasn’t really counting on when I signed up for the class (perhaps I envisioned the class analyzing popsicle sticks, who knows). It’s not so bad going to see plays that someone else picked out, it’s spending 6 pounds and 3 hours on them that gets me huffy at times.

Our first play was Mary Stuart a big whoppin 3 hour thing with 19 century dialogue, but it was good! Fascinating take on British history and all that. I can’t say that I enjoyed the second play as much – too many wigs and interpretive dance there.

Someday I’ll put up some pictures of Oxford y Londres just as king James did (or is that prince Jim??) but for tonight I leave you with a bit from an old Oxford resident

"'Tis the voice of the Lobster: I heard him declare
'You have baked me too brown, I must sugar my hair.'
As a duck with its eyelids, so he with his nose
Trims his belt and his buttons, and turns out his toes.
When the sands are all dry, he is gay as a lark,
And will talk in contemptuous tones of the Shark:
But, when the tide rises and sharks are around,
His voice has a timid and tremulous sound."

"I passed by his garden, and marked, with one eye,
How the Owl and the Panther were sharing a pie:
The Panther took pie-crust, and gravy, and meat,
While the Old had the dish as its share of the treat.
When the pie was all finished, the Owl, as a boon,
Was kindly permitted to pocket the spoon:
While the Panther received knife and fork with a growl,
And concluded the banquet by [eating the owl.]

The Voice of the Lobster,
Lewis Carol

ur such a bad influence on me

‘Cause I really could be typing out notes about how The Memoirs and Private Confessions of a Justified Sinner (written, no less, by a man named James Hogg!) is in fact a superb physiological novel displaying the mixed mediums of folklore and the supernatural.

Du duh?

Yup, but what I’m actually do with my time is show you a bit of the homework that I’ve already completed. I was told by James and Mr. Evan had to complete an assignment for Spanish class about his dream date. Well today I’m gonna turn in an assignment about “Mi Ex,” and so y’all all will have to tell me what you think of him.

Mi Ex
por Candace Jones
Antes salía con Ghengis Kahn. Porque el ha vivido una infancia nómada, nunca le gusta quedar en la casa de mis padres. Siempre montaba a mi jardín en un caballo negro, daba una patada a la puerta, y gruñía a mi hermanito. Pero hablaba cortés a mi padre porque lo consideraba un aliado importante.
El me llevaba a cenar y hacer algo (siempre prefería polo o squash a golf!). Cuando íbamos al cine, generalmente estaba inquieto y cada cinco minutos se levantaba a traer las palomitas de maíz.
De vez en cuando me pedía que yo cocine algo especial, y Kahn siempre quería carne fresco, queso de cabra, y café viejo (este consideraba una delicadeza).
Me caía a el porque era generoso, muy leal, y un protector excelente. Una noche yo estaba en pie en la acera mientras Kahn compraba un haggis en una carnicería. Un atracador corrió a mí y me apuntó con una pistola. De repente, Kahn volvió a la calle, lo golpeó el atracador con su bolso (que normalmente tenía dos o tres barras de oro), y me trajo a un café.
Un día pedí Kahn, “¿De dónde eres?” Pero solamente él sonrió y dijo, “Una gitana se le cayo una jaca negra del cielo, pero cuando tocó la arena de Mongolia, se desplomó y se hizo un niño, y el niño era me.”

Found any grammer errors yet? Well too late! It goes in the drop box (or pidgin holes as they are more colourfully called here) in 5 minutes. In case the name peeked your interest I’ll include the translation…

My Ex

I used to go out with Ghengis Kahn. Since he had lived a nomadic childhood, he never liked to stay long in my parents house. He always rode up on a black horse, kicked the door, and growled at my brother. But he spoke courteously to my father since he considered him a valuable ally.
He would take me to eat and do something, and he always preferred bumper cars to golf. When we went to the cinema he was generally restless and got up every five minutes to get popcorn.
Every now and then I asked him if he wanted me to cook him something special and he always asked for fresh meat, goat cheese and old coffee (he thought it was a delicacy).
I liked him because he was generous, very loyal, and an excellent protector. One time I was standing on a street corner while he bought some haggis in a meat market. A mugger ran up and pointed his gun at me and asked me for my bag. In an instant, Kahn flew out to the street, knocked the mugger on the head with his change purse (which generally carried two or three bars of gold), and carried me off to a coffee shop.
I would ask Kahn where he came from and he would smile and say that a gypsy had dropped a little horse out of the sky but when it landed in the sand of Mongolia it tangled itself up and became a boy, and that little boy was him.


Yup, never a dull moment up here. Anywho, we’ll be trucking off on our weekend to London tomorrow, so woopiedootles! I still have to pack when I get home! Later!

Let greenness be

Hi-Ya!

Yup, in the reading room again. I got out of a Spanish lecture and I made a quick dive to check my email, hoping that the minions of fellow UofGers (what do you call us all anyway?!) had left one computer free for me.

Haha, in luck today.

But, with a little leftover time before I tube, train, and car ride my way home, I thought I’d entertain you with a picture post of the estimable building wherein I sit.

Ye McMillan Reading room



The sun actually was shining for much of today (all praise be to God!), so the photo is accurate. But I must point out that if you actually walk from the Maths Building (maths, maths – these British!) you will not see the reading room from this angle. You are much more apt to discover the grim reality of Scottish weathering –


greenness. Yes, greenness from the rust, greenness of peeling paint, greenness from the green light streaming through the green trees.

Que sera sera. And in Scotland it will be green!