proustbot: (But it was she and not the sea we heard)
I.


VIDALIA: "Guys, guys, did you know that 'Philadelphia' literally means 'brotherly love'?"

EVERYONE IN THE WORKROOM: "Yes."

ME: [only half-paying attention] "Yes, but I know Latin, dude."

EVERYONE IN THE WORKROOM: "...It's Greek, actually."

II.


M: [loudly from the bathroom] "Ay, carajo!"

ME: "Is everything okay?"

[long pause]

M: "Oh, it's just that I almost accidentally used your toothbrush."

ME: "Oh, okay."

M: "But I didn't use it. But I'm just going to rinse it under the tap for a while anyway. For no reason."

III.


REYNARD: "Hey, does your roommate still have my bedside dresser?"

ME: "Uh, maybe. I guess you want it back before you leave the country, huh?"

REYNARD: "Not necessarily. I'd be willing to sell it to your roommate outright for twenty-five dollars--"

ME: "Okay, sure."

REYNARD: "--or just give it to you for free."

ME: "..."
proustbot: (Floreat Etona)
SUFFOLK: "[livejournal.com profile] mutantkoala? Man, every time I've seen her this week, she's been drunk!"

MY ADVISOR: "..."

ME: "..."
proustbot: (Default)
I passed my PhD comps on Monday, which means that I now possess a second MA (whatever) and have reached that rarefied state of ABD (hurray!). It was not a terrible experience -- I had colleagues who had terrible experiences, but I did not, and my advisor probably deserves all the credit for protecting me from the slings and arrows of outrageous faculty. (They tell you, when you're a baby undergraduate, that finding a good advisor is the most important part of getting an advanced degree in the humanities -- and this is very true.)

Two highlights!

I.


PROFESSOR #1: "So in your exam, you talked about the bad parts of being a slave on a Caribbean sugar plantation. But what about the good parts?"

ME: "The good parts? Of being a slave? On the type of plantation with the highest rate of slave mortality?"

PROFESSOR #1: "Right. You talk about the black majority and relative autonomy -- but what else? What is there specifically about sugar that benefits slaves? Something not true for coffee, tobacco, or cotton? What is it about sugar?"

ME: "Well. It can be...eaten."

II.


PROFESSOR #2: "So...imagine you are a Spanish colonial administrator at the end of the seventeenth century...who lives for 125 years. What do you think about the Bourbon Reforms?"

ME: "Well, ooookay..." [blathers randomly for five minutes]

PROFESSOR #2: "What I find interesting is that, in your answer, you sound almost creole..."

ME: "Well, I've been there for 125 years! I've developed local loyalties! I've gone native!"

PROFESSOR #2: "..."
proustbot: (Butterfly)
I.

[via email]

T: "So I found this book in the library that you might know? By [So-and-So]?

ME: "Oh, man! [So-and-So]! I didn't even know she was still publishing. Does the book look any good?"

T: "My manly and thorough assessment is: the cover is pretty."

II.

[via gchat]

H: i took over the dance floor and music at 2 am
H: and it got turned to 11

ME: hahahaha
ME: well, I'm glad it was a good weekend for dancing for everybody

H: oh, for sure
H: every weekend is a dancing night for me
H: hell, every night i dance
H: just mostly in my kitchen
proustbot: (et je veux ta revanche)
REYNARD: [reading an ostensibly hilarious Latin passage. Out loud.]

SALAZAR: [snickering]

EVERYONE ELSE IN THE ROOM: [not caring about Latin and rolling their eyes]

JANE: "That's a pretty good way to get killed, man."

REYNARD: "Ah, yes. That's true. ...That's probably why Latin is a dead language now. It became...dangerous."

(In unrelated news, Wellington informed me tonight that the Powers To Be have decided that Reynard and I would make a good couple. To which I could have offered many responses, but I was incredibly drunk at the time, so I just laughed madly and said that my Latin would never be good enough to attract Reynard.)
proustbot: (Floreat Etona)
I.


GOSLING: [to me] "I realized last night that I've never left your house sober."

II.


ME: "So I've decided to crash your seminar this semester!"

SIMON: [deadpan] "Oh, good. It'll add a nice 'I do what I want' element to the conversation."

III.


WIFE E: "They're words from World War I. Made-up words! Words of convenience! Words that dying men scream from the trenches!"

IV.


FORMER ROOMMATE: "You're coming to visit me, right? Remember: what happens in Spain stays in Spain. If you know what I mean."

ME: "Does that mean we can kill a man with impunity?"

FORMER ROOMMATE: "Yes. Just like that singer whose song you're always quoting when I ask you personal questions! Like, 'Do you have any secrets you want to tell me,' and you say, 'Well, this one time in Reno...'"
proustbot: (Liberty Leading the People)
I.


[SCENE: It's noon. A. and I just got home to find The Dude at our kitchen table. We prepare to start baking cookies. He is still in his PJs.]

ME: "Should we start drinking? I think we should start drinking. Hey, Dude, do you want a beer?"

THE DUDE: "Well, I think...guys, I think that I shouldn't start drinking for the day until I take a shower at least, you know?"

ME: "Yeah, that sounds like a pretty good rule of thumb. For life."

II.


SUFFOLK: "I swear, if he does not wear a tux, I'm going to beat him to death with a chair."

III.


ME: "So my mother thought that your facebook profile picture was actually a picture of you..."

FORMER ROOMMATE: "Really? Oh man, I can imagine that call home: 'Hey, Mom! My roommate is really cool! He's from Peru! He has a beard, he's kind of short...and he's fifty years old.'"
proustbot: (clint eastwood)
My advisor is offering a seminar next semester that conflicts with two other seminars I want to take (for giggles). I sat in the computer lab one morning and tried to strategize how to get two of the three professors involved to shuffle around their classes without letting my advisor know that I am taking classes solely for the sake of giggles.

This is my comps year. In theory. I should be grimly grinding away in preparation for my exams in the spring. In practice, I like to take seminars on totally unrelated topics, because, hey, sitting with a bunch of your peers and discussing books and sources and historiography is the fun part of graduate school. However, the advisor will not be sympathetic to this line of thinking, and I have successfully kept him in the dark about the many, many seminars I've taken and am taking. (Happily, he has not yet stopped to wonder about why all his colleagues know me so well.)

I was explaining all my ruses and plans to other grad students in the lab, and one of them raised his eyebrow and said, "[livejournal.com profile] mutantkoala, every [advisor] story you tell is about how he sees through your intricately designed plans to deceive him."

Which is a very true statement -- although it may reflect more the stories I elect to tell about myself and less the perspicacity of my advisor.
proustbot: (et je veux ta revanche)
[H. steps out of the room and returns after five minutes]

H:" So R. tells me that you were just talking shit about me."

ME: "What? No! I mean, it was R! He was talking way more shit than I was!"

H: "Interesting. I didn't actually talk to R. I just heard you cackling when I was walking down the hall, and I figured that's what you were doing."

ME: "...dammit. You know me too well."

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