Academic Grumbles

So I spent the afternoon in my grown-up clothes walking around two campuses (campi?) trying to find people, all of whom have offices at the very top of tall buildings. I'm staunch, and took the stairs, sigh.

Unfortunately, most of them were not there. This includes the lecturer of the poetry course I'm taking (not essential), the lecturer of a language course that I might be taking (really need to talk to him before I make the decision, and I'm running out of time), and the course coordinator of another set of courses who was physically present but still... not there.

She did not offer me a seat. I stood the whole time we discussed matters that were, at least important to me, and would increase the size of her kingdom, theoretically. The only time she approached smiling was when she told me it was now too late to take the first semester course required to finish the Certificate. It wasn't too late two weeks ago when I e-mailed a query. It wasn't even too late one week ago when I phoned a message on her answering machine because I'd gotten no reply. She claims she never got that e-mail. The phone call was logged, but, well, she was just too busy...

Bitch.

So there is somebody else that I need to find to talk to, and maybe I'll wangle my way in after all. But we'll see. I'm feeling very unenthusiastic about it at the moment.

**

Apart from that, I had a job interview with the Marketing Department, who wanted two hours of a Writing Consultant per week to clean up their students' grammar. They are utter sweeties. It seriously cheered up my day.

And now I'm sitting at home getting over the shakes caused from trying to determine my future. Man, I want icecream.

That's all.

This Story is Probably Going to Piss Off Christians

So if you're Christian and easily piss-offable, don't read it. And if you do, then please don't burn me!

Choices

So this is how I met the Wandering Jew. I was in the bar on the corner of Reed Street, sitting in a corner away from the noise of the tv on the wall, with my feet on the low table. I was hoping the barman wouldn't notice and nursing a big china mug of Irish Coffee, also. (On the one hand, coffee has a sobering effect. On the other, it was my fourth. I leave it to you to believe the tale or not.)

And this guy sits down, he's hairy, but he's bald on top, too. He pulls out a cigar like a turd, lights it, and says: "I didn't curse my Saviour. That's a damn' lie. I loved that guy. He was so human - he had flaws, but the sweetest, kindest, best man I ever saw. You know that saying: 'A true friend knows the worst thing about you, and likes you anyway'? That was him. With the whole effing human race. Wow. And the whole divinity thing, that too I guess. He was wonderful. Not like the rest of his disciples. Matthew - he kept giving his money away and acting all smug about it. And Peter. That toffee-nosed, hypocritical, 'Oh you're a sinner and I'm holy but I forgive you 'cause I'm just better than you..." oh don't get me started...

At that point, I gotta make a trip to the little gentleman's room. Four cups of Irish Coffee, remember? (And I was hoping if I ignored him, he'd go away. What can I say, I'm not a nice person. You know that. So help me, I dunno why you still talk to me.) I get back and he's still there, in his stained coat, and baldness, and bushy beard with the turd cigar poking out between his lips. He's still talking.

"...in the garden. I didn't want to do it - I loved that guy. But he'd braced me beforehand, and explained how very important it all was. He had to die, in that particular way, and it would carry off all the sins of the world and we'd be back in a state of divine grace or something. He didn't want to die but he knew he had to. It was important.

"So I pulled myself together, in the garden of Gethsemane, with the night-flowers blooming and the smell of rain in the air. The soldiers were waiting in the darkness, but the torches lit the faces of my friend and his followers well enough. I looked up in his eyes - dark brown they were but they looked black, and kind, and so sorry that he was making me do this. I looked up, and murmured 'Forgive me.'

"And there was Peter. Toffee-nosed obnoxious Peter. Peter whom I hated. I heard a sound of thunder, and I betrayed someone with a kiss, and then the rains fell.

"He tried to get them to switch, after, but Peter was all sanctimonious and 'Oh, I'm the one you want.' There was such a clamour... The only one who could change the Romans' mind was me and they wouldn't believe I'd made a mistake that simple, would they? That's what I told myself. So I bundled my friend off and we did the best we could with what we had left.

"I mean, the crucifixion. That was pretty damn impressive, yeah?

"But we weren't Saved. He just lived on after that - the sweetest guy you ever met. Died at 65 with a bundle of grand-kids. Half of 'em died in a plague that year... One of his descendants'll do the job, maybe.

"And I lived on, and on. I have to tell the story to a man before I die, so he won't do what I did. If the chance comes round, see." That hairy, bald bastard grins horribly, then, and kisses me on the cheek. His breath stinks, like vomit. "Good luck," he says, and stumps out of the bar.

I had to tell you, friend. I can tell you anything.

But I am afflicted with a sudden terror.

fini

This is for Stephanie

Being that person who first defined the word for me, after I had long pondered the eponymous title and plot of the tale of the death of Ermintrude Inch by Arthur C. Clarke.

Defenestration

(by R. P. Lister)

I once had the honour of meeting a philosopher called McIndoe
Who had once had the honour of being flung out of an upstairs window.
During his flight, he said, he commenced an interesting train of speculation
On why there happened to be such a word as defenestration.

There is not, he said, a special word for being rolled down a roof into a gutter;
There is no verb to describe the action of beating a man to death with a putter;
No adjective exists to qualify a man bound to the buffer of the 12.10 to Ealing,
No abstract noun to mollify a man hung upside down by his ankles from the ceiling.

Why, then, of all the possible offences so distressing to humanitarians,
Should this one alone have caught the attention of the verbarians?
I concluded (said McIndoe) that the incidence of logodaedaly was purely adventitious.
About a thirtieth of a second later, I landed in a bush that my great-aunt brought back from Mauritius.

I am aware (he said) that defenestration is not limited to the flinging of men through the window.
On this occasion, however, it was so limited, the object defenestrated being, I, the philosopher, McIndoe.

Though perhaps Ermintrude did not die, but landed on a passing bush. Or something. The story is unclear on that point.

"Logodaedaly" means arbitrary or capricious coinage of words. A related term is "Inkhorn word" (a word so long that it takes a whole horn of ink to write it). While not sharing the precise meaning, "Inkhorn word" and its related (though far more Latinate) adjective "sesquipedalian" (a word a foot and a half long) are, I feel, in the spirit of "Logodaedaly".

Training Hard

I've got to say, the food on New Zealand trains has reached new highs for price, and lows for quality. Errk. Two dollars for two thirds of a cup of watery milo? Hello?

Still, the train trip from Auckland to Palmerston was infinitely more comfortable than on the bus the other way. We were delayed a little, when a freight train broke down and had to be hauled out of the way, and a little more when that put us at odds with a the freight pattern and we kept having to stop and duck out of the way of the other trains. It was okay. I had half a chess game and an amazing conversation with a lady called Ariane, who liked skiing a great deal. She'd been conceived and born in India of Russian parents who had fled there after the troubles (and how old does that make her?), and grown up in France. She's forgotten more languages then I can hope to learn. She goes to Bali every year and likes cats. She'd still be skiing if she hadn't been in a road accident and become permanently cross-eyed. A delight to talk to, really.

And just so you know, when my train got in an hour late, one of my flatmates was waiting to pick me. And I didn't have to cook dinner, or clean up after that night.

It was lovely.

I Got A Letter Today

Hi Catherine

I just came back from Auckland and got an exciting news to share with you. I was delighted to tell you I successfully completed my degree and was selected by three education institutes to study early childhood programme, and finally I chose to study at Massey continuously as I love this beautiful city and have lots of good friends like you here.

I really appreciate for your great help at these two years. I understand I can't complete my degree if without your help. I don't know how to express my gratitude to you and never forget you gave me a bright future in NZ. Thank you very much indeed.

Are you available recently? I would like to meet you if you are free.

Have a good day!

Now doesn't that just make me feel warm inside? And look at her English! One stray article and a dodgy tense - all else is beautiful, beautiful, thrice beautiful!

I'm happy.

Update

This is just a lot of little things.

Variously, these:

I have fixed the bobbin case. There was a tense moment when the screw went sproing onto the floor but I got it back and can now adjust the lower tension as I wish. This didn't help as much as I would have liked, because, even though I could fiddle with the tension, when hemming Stephanie's shirt it still wanted to pull too tight. I ended up kluging it and it looks fine - it was just annoying. As I was having similar problems while using my Mum's sewing machine (and the same material) I suspect I was just using a needle to heavy for the tight-grained fabric., Or something. I might experiment, but I just can't be bothered. The shirt is done (it looks very pretty).

Chantelle turned up on my doorstep, very unexpectedly. It seems she had been giving my flatmate David a ride back from the Manukau Market. I gave her coffee, and we shot the breeze and a couple of ducks. She even admired my new costume!

I baked a banana cake. The outside is a little smoky, but it tastes good. Beef stroganoff for dinner tonight. Cooking is a great adventure!

I Have Hayfever

The weather is a lot sunnier now, and my room mostly tidy, though there are places where the mess has just been pigeon-holed and will have to be dealt with later, and there are some bags of now-designated-old clothes that need to be taken out. Also, I'm planning on passing some of the kibble on to little girls who will probably enjoy it very much.

On a definite up-side, I discovered the copy of Where the Wild Things Are that Steph gave me, and an M. C. Escher colouring book (un-touched - how did I ever let that happen?) and a book of paper airplanes to play with when I feel like it.

Michael helped me clear off the dining-room table, so I could set up my sewing-machine on it and add my own brand of clutter *grin*. I'm having trouble with the bobbin-case, which really doesn't want to give a respectable tension. I suspect that the screw isn't quite set properly, but I'm having trouble fixing it. The screw is so small as the actress said to the ... never mind.

I think perhaps I shall have to take refuge in the colouring book for a while, get my groove back, and only then have another go with the recalcitrant machinery...

Wish me luck?

Home Again

It's raining.

I have come to the realisation that there are some people who will ensure that their flatmates have a freshly made-up bed to come back to after a long trip, and there are some people who will leave their flatmates a dirty kitchen (overflowing rubbish-bins and rotting ginger on the sill: check) and a bathroom with hair on the soap.

It's raining.

I have a fairly large quantity of ridiculous rubbish and faded treasures to get rid of to make room for the stuff I cleared out of Mum's attic, and said stuff to put away.

It's raining.

I don't feel good.

Upper-Body Workout: Check.

I didn't go stumping today. Today I was up on a thinning ladder getting up-close-and-personal with some large yet bashful pine trees. There I was, stripping away all their pretensions and veils with each branch I lopped off. I was using a tree saw, which has a plastic handle with a crook at the end, sorta like a pistol grip only distorted, and a blade shaped like a sickle - not curved as much as a crescent moon, but heading in that direction.

I'm lopping branches so that, soon, my employers can chop the poor things down at the root without worrying about spiky bits impaling the local vampires as they fall... Though if a tree that size fell on me, I wouldn't be worrying about the vamps. I almost wanted to take my first big branch home as a trophy - it was so long and thick, and it fell with such a satisfying crack! creak... SWISH. I did seperate it out of the pile and showed it off proudly. Enough wood to terrify a hundred effete vampires, heh. (I don't know where all the sleazy innuendo is coming from tonight. I'll try to stop now.)

Anyway, it's fairly physical work - the ladder-climbing is no big deal, but my hands and arms have been working all day. Since I started at 8 to outwit the heat (it's been ghastly lately) and because the day was wonderful for working outside (overcast, with a nice light breeze) and because good working weather is good working weather that meant that I did not knock off until 6, ten hours later. (Excuse me while I tumble slowly to the ground with a quiet sigh.)

I slopped into a hot bath as soon as I got home with a glass of milk, a chocolate bar, a large packet of salt and vinegar chippies, and a cup of coffee: my comfort foods of choice.

There was sap in my hair. I tried soaking it out in the water - there is something very luxurious in ducking your head under and seeing your hair drift around like waterweed... I don't normally do that, because as soon as I get out it goes back to tangled and soggy, but it was nice. I'll try combing the lot when it finally dries, and see (feel? some kind of kinesthesia, maybe?) if I managed to get the pine sap out. Some experiments are worth trying!

And now I'm going to collapse in a heap again...