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

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


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

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


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."


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: (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: (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."
proustbot: (But it was she and not the sea we heard)
Yesterday, I woke up at 4 in the morning, turned on the BBC, and began typing up an outline about the plurality of the Protestant Reformations as many people in wacky hats streamed through the TV and into Westminister Abbey. (I've gotten some grief about this from my cohort, to which I can only say: if you ever need to muzzily get up early to parse your indecipherable notes about Zwingli's interpretation of the eucharist in preparation for an eight-hour exam that you're about to take, wacky hats and organ music make a nicely soothing accompaniment.)

Then I packed up my stuff, went to the library, spread out my stuff on a group-study table, piled up my books like a fortress around me, plugged in my headphones, turned on my iPod, and took an eight-hour exam. (The questions I decided to answer involve the geographic multiplicity of the Reformations and the historiography of religious violence in early modern Europe.) I haven't taken a timed exam since undergraduate years, but I have written many research papers under ridiculous deadlines in the last three years, and that skill served me in good stead. I took one twenty-minute break to run up to the library cafe and eat a sandwich while flipping through Natalie Zemon Davis' Society and Culture in Early Modern France. Then I ran back down and kept typing. I produced 14 pages, which seems to be the average output for the people in my cohort who took their own exams that day.

Then I got on a bus with some friends and went downtown to the university conservatory, where one of the members of my cohort (who took his own eight-hour exam earlier that day) was singing with a Renaissance ensemble. Two hours of lute music later, we made sleep-deprived smalltalk and tried to go to our favorite pizza place around the corner, only to discover that their kitchen closes at 10. (10! On a Friday night! We were aggrieved.) So we went instead to our second favorite bar, where we drank beer and ate undercooked pizza and they mocked me for getting up at 4 in the morning to watch William and Kate wed. ("But I was just typing up notes," I wailed. "The eucharist! Iconoclasm! Institutional hierarchy!")

Then I went home, curled up sleepily on my roommate's bed while I talked to him about our days, and then curled up sleepily on my own bed. And went to sleep.
proustbot: (liz)
[SCENE: An Australia Day party in which I consumed great amounts of Yuengling after kind-hearted souls steered me away from the Foster's]

REYNARD: "Fight Club? No, we didn't have a Fight Club, but we did have a Bite Club. But we can't talk about it."

ME: "How many people were in Bite Club?"

REYNARD: "There were sixty camp counselors, and we were all in Bite Club. I mean, it originally started out with three people who weren't supposed to talk about it, so..."

ME: "..."

REYNARD: "We worked on a point system. One point per bite. Double points if the bite happened on the butt. No one ever managed to do that, though. You'd be surprised at how difficult it is."


proustbot: (Default)

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