A Secret History

threetimes found his first grey hairs!

Name meme from anaxareteia. I thought some of my names were rather diverting (as in amusing, not circumnambulatory). ( A rose by any other name... )

Yummy dinner last night thanks to tutordennis, chef extraordinare: black-eyed peas and rice, collards, and cornbread. Even threetimes could vouch for its Southern goodness, and he should know. Aside: Geo's Georgian roots were the source of recent levity; he said (in reference to a dear friend), "I wouldn't kick her out of bed for eating crackers," and then looked puzzled at the ensuing mirth.

I finally found the key to the Kryptonite U-lock on my bike. The Strangecycle has been out of commission since we moved and misplaced the key. But it's back! Ah, the feel of cruiser brakes, the glint of the fenders, and the wind in my hair. Woo hoo! I can bike down to the coffeeshop and Thrift Store, and thus limit my purchases to what will fit in the basket.

I like horror movies, both the creepy but subtle ones and the ones with realistic gore. Recent favorites: Dog Soldiers, Cabin Fever, and El Espinazo del Diablo. But I also adore old horror flicks, and was therefore pleased with the following quiz. Ever wonder what kind of zombie you'd be? Well, wonder no longer.


You are a Craven Zombie. Somebody slipped you some
Zombie Dust and now you think you've died and
been resurrected. You must do the bidding of
your evil master as long as he holds your soul
imprisoned. Since you're not really dead, you
can be killed with a well-placed toothpick!

What kind of Zombie are you?
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Talulah died this afternoon. threetimes and I were holding her in the vet office, waiting for the doctor. She fluttered, stiffened, relaxed, and was gone.

Home again, I need to keep my eyes and hands full. A clumsy translation of 3 Catullus, along with Talulah's memory, has occupied this last hour. I'll not think of the many hours to come.

Lugete, O Veneres Cupidinesque,
et quantum est hominum venustiorum:
passer mortuus est meae puellae,
passer, deliciae meae puellae,
quem plus illa oculis suis amabat.
Nam mellitus erat suamque norat
ipsam tam bene quam puella matrem,
nec sese a gremio illius movebat,
sed circumsiliens modo huc modo illuc
ad solam dominam usque pipiabat.
Qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum
illuc, unde negant redire quemquam.
At vobis male sit, malae tenebrae
Orci, quae omnia bella devoratis:
tam bellum mihi passerem abstulistis.
O factum male! O miselle passer!
Tua nunc opera meae puellae
flendo turgiduli rubent ocelli.

Mourn, Graces and Loves, 
and all those loved by such. 
The sparrow of my girl is dead, 
the sparrow, pet of my girl, 
whom she loved more than her eyes themselves; 
for he was honey-sweet, and knew her 
the same as a girl knows her mother. 
Not stirring from her lap, 
but hopping about here and there, 
he was continually cooing only to his mistress. 
Now he goes along a shadowy way, 
to a place from where they say no one returns. 
But curses on you, wicked shades 
of Orcus, who devour all things of beauty:
for you have taken away my beautiful sparrow. 
Oh, cruelty! Poor sparrow! 
Now all because of you, my girl's dear eyes 
are heavy and red with tears.

I have no doubt battered sense and syntax, and it is a poorer offering to the gods than knucklebones. But I wonder, did I live only to see so much death?

The boys had been home for several hours before one of them noticed. "What is this?" shrieked tutordennis from the living room.
"What is what?" I called from the kitchen.
"What do you mean, 'What is what?' What is this?" he clarified, with rising hysteria.
"This what?"
"This bird!" He stretched a trembling finger toward his vinyl collection, upon which rested a small cage, with an even smaller budgie inside.
"Oh, that bird. Um..."
Just then, threetimes emerged from the back of the house, assessed the situation, and looked at me expectantly.
"I can explain," I began, with what I hoped was a persuasive smile.

Long story short, we're birdsitting. I've been nannying this summer for a well-meaning but feckless family in Los Altos. They're taking care of the budgies from their four-year-old's preschool class. Now, these birds are just two of many at the preschool, none of whom have names, proper facilities or access to vet care. On my first day, I arrived to find blood all over the cage. The male had what appeared to be a huge open tumor on his leg, and was hopping around on one foot. I pointed this out to the father, who seemed nonplussed, and then I rushed the birds to my own vet. Happily, West Valley Pet Clinic provides free care to schools. Despite the bird's injury, he was quite sweet, and I was crushed when my vet told me that he should be euthanized due to the extent of his disease. His female partner was with him until the end, grooming him and cooing in his ear. The vet said that the only reason the male had survived so long was that the female had been regurgitating for him (I know, I know, but it's a common sign of avian devotion). She's alone now, and misses her partner terribly. The family left a message at the preschool. When they finally called back, one of the teachers said that they didn't care about the bird's death, and not to worry, they'd buy another for the classroom. I have no words for what I think of these people. What are they teaching the students? Life is disposable, and that it's normal to treat other beings as essentially decor for the classroom? When the family went on vacation, they asked me to look after the remaining bird almost as an afterthought. We've started calling her Talulah, and her spunky personality has really begun to blossom. Our birds Elli, Ben and Furn are glad to have her here, and they sing to each other throughout the day. We really don't want another bird, but I hate to deliver her back into what is essentially classroom pet hell. I wish people didn't prove themselves to be vicious and stupid with quite so much regularity.

I received the Hierophant card in two different memes, one simply by entering my birthdate, the other by completing a quiz. This might be notable. On the other hand, it might not.

( See results. )

As posted by vinoepoesia in academics_anon:

I would like to tell you all a little favola which I believe is a perfect example of my everyday interactions in the non-Smith world.

Setting: A bar in New Haven called Bar (appropriately) at approximately 1 AM
Why: To see Ted Leo and the Pharmaceuticals (or something that reminds one of medication) play live, in addition to their opening act which should have been called We Look Like We Go To Smith And Are Under The False Assumption That we Can Rock, Band
Music: Decent
Scene: 20-something hipsters
Personal Physical State of Being: Tired

Taking into consideration the cumulative effect of the above conditions, I decided to leave the dance floor area, grab a beer, and settle into an unoccupied couch the next room over while sporting my best "I'm not a pleasant person so please do not talk to me" face. Apparently said face is not as effective as I had hoped seeing as though I was quickly trapped by Boring Guy # 2. This man told me of his plan to make a lot of money by designing and manufacturing furniture so he could then realize the ultimate dream of producing his original screenplay. To my chagrin, he began to explain the plot of his story, and called the main character Everyman, and told me of the character's subsequent "profound" journey. I offhandedly say, "very Dantesque" and am then met with a look of confusion. To clarify, I say "the Divine Comedy," to which he replies - in an extremely patronizing voice - "this will NOT be a comedy."

My years in the Academy have left me with the perfect conversation-ending ploy: simply mention that a) you study dead languages, or b) you are a grammarian. These statements need not be true, mind you, (although in my case they are--shhh) and you will be immediately met with glazed eyes, nodding of the head, the vocalization "aa-ahh," and *voila* the absence of your unwanted companion.

whobunkyboo has the best memes.
You are a geek. Good for you! Considering the endless complexity of the universe, as well as whatever discipline you happen to be most interested in, you'll never be bored as long as you have a good book store, a net connection, and thousands of dollars worth of expensive equipment. Assuming you're a technical geek, you'll be able to afford it, too. If you're not a technical geek, you're geek enough to mate with a technical geek and thereby get the needed dough. Dating tip: Don't date a geek of the same persuasion as you. You'll constantly try to out-geek the other.

You are 56% geek.

Take the Polygeek Quiz at Thudfactor.com

I seem to be of the "mate with a technical geek" persuasion. Actually, I think I just scored high on the "bookish" geek questions. Face it, dead languages are pretty geeky.



My new favorite thing is Invader Zim. threetimes described it to me as "goth-compatible," and I found it to be so. ( Squeee! )

Thanks to montrealais for this Adrienne Arsenault link. Excerpt: And earlier in the day, a prominent rabbi called homosexuals "subhuman." He publicly declared they would all be reincarnated as rabbits.

I'm not sure why he chose rabbits and he never really explained it. But the poor man had no idea what he started. The light bulbs must have gone off in a hundred heads at once. Surely, the text messages were flying.

Because everywhere you turn at this party someone else has managed to dig up a pair of bunny ears to wear proudly. The park before me is awash in fluffy, droopy ears silhouetted against the night sky and bouncing up and down to the music.

Even the Israeli soldier found a pair. He's in uniform, rabbit ears askew, arms draped over his boyfriend, who is beaming. Other than the clearly frustrated rabbi, who doesn't like bunnies?

Okay, I cleaned out my car and I'm feeling more like myself. I have to remind myself occasionally that I have been productive this summer, and I still have a few more weeks before the school year tolls its bell of all-encompassing grading and lesson-planning. I should savor these weeks; for the subsequent nine months I will not be able to watch a movie without my laptop glued in place. I won't be able to get through dinner without regaling tutordennis and threetimes with tales from the classroom. My reading time will be taken up with pedagogical texts instead of fiction and Latin poetry. Ah, the halcyon days of gardening, making lemonade from our tree, beer-saturated barbecuing in the backyard, and other pleasures, will soon be past.

A project for which I must make time, however, is crocheting a new afghan for Geo in time for winter. If you know a good yarn store, let me know. Or if you have good resources for our winter holiday project: glass etching (drinking glasses, and the like).

Link from whobunkyboo's journal:


Mean lil' fellow, aren't you?

What Monty Python Character are you?
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My bunnies are molting. No, it's not a euphemism, the rabbits really are shedding fur. Summer is waning, and it's sinking in that I actually have to go back to work in a couple of weeks. Nannying for the summer has been nice, although I am looking forward to getting back in the classroom for what will probably be my last year of teaching. I'm getting motivated for a last stab at my summer to-do list, and I feel a surge of energy coming on. Odd how worrying sucks up any impetus to be productive. You'd think you'd get more done because you find less joy in other activities when depressed. Well, en garde, lurking inventory of pending projects! I smite you with the pointed blade of intent!