Today's soundtrack:
If It Was You by Tegan and Sara
That's all. I'm done with procrastination. Really, I mean it this time. I have six weeks to finish this thesis. I will finish this thing. I will show Jane Austen who's boss. I will make Judith Butler my bitch.
Well, that was rather unEdwardian.
As I reach for my fan and smelling salts (the prospect of work plays havoc with my delicate constitution), I leave you, my faithful readers, with this bit of inspiring Englishness.
May this tide you over until such time as my spirit is fully restored and my body is freed from the bonds of unholy thesisity.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Saturday, August 12, 2006
and now for something completely different
Today's soundtrack:
Carrera Corta SkipMix
¡Oye, mis amigos españoles (y sudamericanos y canadienses)! Lindellio acaba de enviarme este. Ah... me encanta Shakira...
Carrera Corta SkipMix
¡Oye, mis amigos españoles (y sudamericanos y canadienses)! Lindellio acaba de enviarme este. Ah... me encanta Shakira...
Friday, August 11, 2006
how to be an edwardian lady during inclement weather
Today's soundtrack:
Mi Sangre de Juanes
I awoke last night to lights flashing in my room and cracking thunder overhead. After my anger at the weather gods had subsided, I realised that my dear readers still don't know how to behave during such an ordeal.
1) Have a fan close. And smelling salts. You may need to use both together when the noise becomes simply too much for your delicate constitution.
2) Ensure that the current object of your affection is near enough to be within safe fainting distance. Although you may not truly faint due to the shock of the storm, but feigning fainting will be enough to keep his attention on you, rather than the storm or that dusty strumpet.
Vale. Ahora un poco mas en español. Pues, mi español es terrible (terrible, terrible), pero pienso que es un poco mejor que antes. Cada día, estaba leyendo El País. Pues, las vinetas El País. Hoy, he encontrado este:
Exactamente.
Mi Sangre de Juanes
I awoke last night to lights flashing in my room and cracking thunder overhead. After my anger at the weather gods had subsided, I realised that my dear readers still don't know how to behave during such an ordeal.
1) Have a fan close. And smelling salts. You may need to use both together when the noise becomes simply too much for your delicate constitution.
2) Ensure that the current object of your affection is near enough to be within safe fainting distance. Although you may not truly faint due to the shock of the storm, but feigning fainting will be enough to keep his attention on you, rather than the storm or that dusty strumpet.
Vale. Ahora un poco mas en español. Pues, mi español es terrible (terrible, terrible), pero pienso que es un poco mejor que antes. Cada día, estaba leyendo El País. Pues, las vinetas El País. Hoy, he encontrado este:
Exactamente.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
another post about the vile vileness of the kite runner
Today's soundtrack:
Mi Sangre de Juanes
Well, in an effort to prolong today's procrastination efforts (which takes a surprising amount of energy) I offer this piece of literary blasphemy.
A few weeks ago, I spotted a woman reading Hosseini's cliche-ridden, hodge-podge of everything sensational and Oprah-esque. She was sitting on a bench by the River, blissfully unaware of the irreparable damage she was doing to her brain in subjecting herself to such tripe. Yes, tripe. I had the idea that if I threw the book into the River, I could save her the years of mental anguish that inevitably accompanies such horrific experiences (myself, I am still tramatized by Exorcist II), but then how will she ever learn?!
Well, in an effort to save some of you (let's call you "the chosen few", as "the chosen people" has been taken, and I don't think it's going to be free anytime soon) please, for the love of all that is well-written, eloquent, and original, do not read this book! I don't care what Allende says! I beg you, oh noble book-clubbers, to tuck in with anything - ANYTHING - but The Kite Runner.
Mi Sangre de Juanes
Well, in an effort to prolong today's procrastination efforts (which takes a surprising amount of energy) I offer this piece of literary blasphemy.
A few weeks ago, I spotted a woman reading Hosseini's cliche-ridden, hodge-podge of everything sensational and Oprah-esque. She was sitting on a bench by the River, blissfully unaware of the irreparable damage she was doing to her brain in subjecting herself to such tripe. Yes, tripe. I had the idea that if I threw the book into the River, I could save her the years of mental anguish that inevitably accompanies such horrific experiences (myself, I am still tramatized by Exorcist II), but then how will she ever learn?!
Well, in an effort to save some of you (let's call you "the chosen few", as "the chosen people" has been taken, and I don't think it's going to be free anytime soon) please, for the love of all that is well-written, eloquent, and original, do not read this book! I don't care what Allende says! I beg you, oh noble book-clubbers, to tuck in with anything - ANYTHING - but The Kite Runner.
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