yrmencyn: (Default)
Um. Hi.  I don't even know where to start.  There have been a lot of things I've wanted to post about in the past... uh... couple months.  But I never seem to actually post, and I've been thinking about this.  Historically, I tend to post less when I'm in a relationship, but I don't think that's it.  I mean it's part of it -- I've been word-vomiting at Jarod, instead of doing it here, and then I just feel like I'm rehashing things I've already dealt with if I put it up here -- but it's hardly all.  Honestly, the other thing has been my stress level, which I didn't realize was so high until it dropped.

explaining myself )Upcoming events )

Anyway.  I'm sorry for being away.  I've been absent at best.  I'm going to try to be back, because this is important to me -- my friends are important to me.
yrmencyn: (food)
I'm back in Baton Rouge.  I'm not really in so verbose a mood as I was last time I wrote, so this will be much briefer.  Friday dinner was good.  Then, I made the grievous error of attempting to go to sleep at about 2am (when the bars let out) in a house right along a major thoroughfare.  Sleeping didn't happen.  This did mean, however, that I was in a light doze when the entirety of Columbus emergency services appeared on the street outside the window.  Turns out there was a hit and run, only the hittee got snagged on the hitter's car and dragged 6 blocks, which sucks a lot.  Well, eventually everybody in the house (me, Lauren, Cass, and Heather) got up and sat around in Brian's room watching the proceedings (it was the best vantage point, Brian).  Come about a quarter 'til 4, and we were getting pretty hungry, so we walked to Hound Dog's and got pizza (24 hour pizza joints are the best thing ever), eventually getting back at around 5 full of sauerkraur and ham pizza (*swoon*).  So... I had intended to go hiking Saturday morning, but instead I was kind of knocked out with NyQuil, because I was DYING OF THE PLAGUE I SHIT YOU NOT.  I am still not quite well, I coughed and hacked all the damn way home.

Anyway.  So Heather, Aaron, and I went to the indie craft fair at Little Brother's (quite nifty, and who knew Natalie Dee was a C-bus local?):
Aaron is a fetus.
Thence to the Cornerstone Deli.  Moving about of belongings ensued as I shifted my homebase to the Kelso House, then we went to Romeo & Juliet, from the Panopticon Players, [livejournal.com profile] lareinenoire directing.  Quite a good performance, followed by food at the Dube and then the cast party at the Kelso House.  I'm old.  I'm like 80 years old mentally, I swear.  I just kept thinking the damn kids should learn to quiet down, goddammit.  Damn kids.

After retiring to my bed-couch at 6 am (yes.), I slept a long time.  Then we had chorizo and eggs.  Then I hung around the Guild garb workshop.  Then I met up with Kyle and Amber, which was very nice.  Finally, I went to go see Night Watch, which is a fascinating Russian vampire movie.  The cosmology is like nothing I have dealt with before.  It is SUPERB.  Also, apparently its counterpart Day Watch was filmed simultaneously, so it will be released in theatres not too far in the future (I hear tell it's already on DVD; oh, the vagaries of arthouse film!).  So, yeah.  See Night Watch.  Or if it's out on Netflix, as it well could be, rent it (is that proper Netflix terminology? add it to you queue or whatever).  And then Aaron, Beth and I played seemingly endless rounds of 31, and I proceeded to lose, harshly, at Hearts:
I pretty much failed at Hearts.

Today was pretty light.  Had lunch with Liz, turned in my travel receipts to Christopher Griffin so I can get the moneys.  Walked over to Cup O' Joe to use their internet to upload my thesis, which is now approved and online, sweet Jesus me.

Capped off a nice relaxing day by having the most delicious barbeque ever in the Memphis airport.  Jim Neely's Interstate BBQ is an institution, and I strongly suggest that you eat it next time you're in Memphis.  The airport location is in between gates B12 and B13 (or somewhere near there), and it looks like both stand-alone locations (in Memphis proper and right across the line in Southhaven, Miss.) are easily accessible from I-55.  Next time I'm headed through Memphis I know I will.  It was seriously the best barbeque I've had in a long damn time.  Chopped pork plate with baked beans and slaw.  The meat was juicy and tender (not dried out like you get sometimes).  The sauce was spicy, but balanced.  The beans were just barely sweet.  The slaw had mustard in it!  *LOVE*

Er, so... yeah.  Night.  Back to real life tomorrow.

ETA: Just found the mail that I got while I was away. It includes a rejection from Indiana, so now that's resolved, thank God. I mean, finally, potzer.
yrmencyn: (qc - drunk)
I have been having a wonderfully wonderful visit.  I'll try to get everything in, but I may skip some stuff, oops.

So, Meg picked me up from CMH without a hitch.  The plane ride from Memphis to CMH, btw, was a special kind of hell.  It wasn't really NWA's fault, actually, it was just the plane itself.  I have gone from a general distaste for Embraer jets (little 2-seats-to-a-side jet) to a profound hatred of them.  This is directly related to the fact that as the years go by my right foot (and only my right foot, weirdly) swells more and more when I fly, so I have to take off that shoe to stop the pinching.  Which is great and all, but then the Embraers are so wee that I'm also contorting my legs at bizarre angles such that blood flow becomes a major issue.  Not fun.  Not NWA's fault, but not fun.  Also not fun is the large man in the seat next to me, making me turn awkwardly to fit in the seat.  Anyway.

I spent most of Wednesday night at Rennie Dinner and then at Fight Guild practice.  I'm very impressed with how Fight Guild has grown progressively more structured under Cathy.  I remember it being rather disjointed and lackadaisical, since Pat didn't really adequately rein in the trouble-causing elements (*cough* = me).  Ended the night sitting and drinking coffee at the Rennie House with Jeff and Jessica.

Thursday and Friday, only 1601 more words! )
yrmencyn: (armadillo)
Well, it's done.  They passed me.  It was actually not unpleasurable at all, even on the points where I was fumbling around attempting to cover up the fact that I am, in fact, rather less than versed in the literatures I'm expecting to be versed in.  Woohoo!  Sped home, made a couple of changes (I would have just done them on campus, but I needed to look at a certain dictionary that I'd accidentally left at home), then sped back to campus where I dropped off my thesis with the graduate school.  The university editor should be contacting me within about 48 hours to tell me what I did wrong.

I congratulated myself by having dinner at Al-Maza.  Not really any sort of fancy, but I think they make tastiness, and I love their kabobs.  They were, in fact, the source of an odd conversation:
Cashier/Server: Are you Iranian?
Me: No... just plain old European mix.
Her: Oh, ok.
Me: Why do you ask?
Her: You get the kabobs.
Thus cementing my suspicion that with a little work/practice, I could pass not only for most European ethnicities, but also a number of Middle Eastern/Mediterranean ones. 
yrmencyn: (Default)
Ay me for pity, what a dream had I here!  I dreamt that Todd, Dr. Cerquiglini's assistant, gave me a call this morning at 11am to tell me -- with great apology and obvious displeasure at being the bearer of bad news -- that Dr. Cerquiglini (a) had never received the thesis draft I sent him and (b) had arrived quite late in Baton Rouge from Paris, and thus (c) would not be at my defense, sorry, please bring the forms by tomorrow and he'd sign them.  I further dreamt that I had to make numerous calls and reschedule the damn thing for tomorrow, arg.

Yep, just like that.  'Cept it wasn't a dream, but other than that a completely truthful portrayal of the facts. 

Sometimes you gotta laugh, otherwise you'll commit homicide.
yrmencyn: (qc - drunk)
Defense tomorrow.  I've just finished formatting my thesis all pretty like and sending it off to Kinko's so I'll have a copy to look at tomorrow.  I even had them print it in such a way that if my committee should not require any changes (HA!) I can just take it over to the graduate school and hand it to them immediately upon finishing (even though they require electronic submission, you have to submit a hard copy to get the ball rolling -- it's not what I would describe as the best system).  I've got my extra cataloging abstract done (another idiocy of the system), and I think I'm ready.  I have a strong desire to vomit.  Bluch.  I know it'll go fine, but that doesn't stop me being damn nervous.
yrmencyn: (Default)
Well, the thesis is [pretty much] out of my hands.  I haven't yet sent it off, though, because I was suddenly gripped this morning by the need to do a last-minute redraft of the translation (fruitfully, as it turns out, since I had come to a new realization about certain aspects of Richard's poetry in writing the introduction, and I wanted to incorporate them into my translations; many of the poems read much more resonantly afterward).  Unfortunately, that meant that I didn't get to Kinko's until after noon, when they were quite busy, so now I have to wait until 6PM to get pick up my print job (and I am not printing 3 copies, double-sided, of a 128-page document on my home computer).  This means that I can't mail the thing to Dr. Cerquiglini in Paris until tomorrow, but I'll just hope that air mail can get it to him before he disappears off to Salamanca (blasted globe-hopping profs), and it means I can't give it to Dr. Stone until tomorrow.  Neither of these are really major problems, it's just annoying, since I had told them I'd do these things by a certain date, and now I'm not.  Oh well, shit happens.

Anyway, I'm happy, since I finally feel relaxed about this for the first time in weeks.  I celebrated by scheduling a veterinary appointment tomorrow for Phoebe (just a yearly checkup/vacc, don't worry, and yes I was joking about celebrating).

In terms of real celebration, I'm very excited about an upcoming show here in Baton Rouge.  National touring groups don't often stop by the Capital City, and when they do it's generally groups that I couldn't care less about.  Now, though, who is playing next Monday at Chelsea's new location (also exciting) as part of GFL Fest?  Ted Leo/Pharmacists!  I am SO there.  Seriously, doors at 9pm, and I'll be there way early for dinner if I have to be to get in.  When they try to kick people out to the non-cover area, I'll just be like "no, that's ok, here's 10 dollars.  Thanks."  Also, 10 dollars for Ted Leo (and some Catalan band that intrigues me to boot) is a fucking steal.  Now the Mountain Goats just need to come through town, and I'll be sitting happy.

And now I'll stop being a post-whore.

ETA: Furthermore, Bluegrass on the Bayou will be this coming Thursday through Saturday near campus at Nicholson and Gourrier, only $5/day for students. I'm certainly not going to be spending hours and hours there, but I figure I'll stop by; despite their eye-gouging site design I'm intrigued. (Also, readers of 225: the festival is NOT on the parade grounds, as the magazine erroneously printed. Just so we're clear.)
yrmencyn: (qc - drunk)
I cannot believe it took me 'til now to write what my word processor can't decide is 8 or 9 pages (2600 words ish).  Nonetheless, I'm reasonably happy with it.  I expect to have to do revisions, but that's not out of the ordinary.  Now to bed, the better to awaken, print things out, and deliver them to various people and places.  Sleeeeeeeeeeeep.
yrmencyn: (food)
Alright, I made quite successful lasagna, I've had a Hidden River Amber, I'm feeling well-nourished and loose, and I shall continue to relax for the next 30 minutes with the first new ep of The West Wing in months.  After that, I'm going to crack my knuckles ostentatiously before me and then pound out this bloody translator's note.  No hesitation, no snafus, for a solid hour until my reward in the form of Grey's Anatomy.  How shall this bitch be smacked?  Lo, up shall it be smacked, and prodigiously.
yrmencyn: (Default)
Oh sweet Christ on a crutch, I can't get this thing started.  Everything I try for an opening sounds like it was written by a first-grader who thinks he's more precocious than he actually is.  I know if I could just get into it words would "flow from my pen like / Piss after too much beer" (Richard, "Since I loved"), but I can't get past the blamed intro.  Bugger.  I've been hacking away at it, ineffectually, for over an hour now.  Time to read some of Jonathan Safran Foer's Everything Is Illuminated and otherwise sulk for a while.

ETA: While sulking, I thought to search for a friend on Facebook. I didn't find her, but I did find this fantabulous userpic from another girl with the same name:
Her date's head has been blacked out!
That's just priceless. I want to know the thought process here. "This is a really cute photo of me, but he's a total douchebag. I know! I'll just black out his face, that'll work."
yrmencyn: (qc - drunk)
For the past few days, I have been indulging in a terrifically fun activity, which may in fact be the flamingest thing I do on a regular basis.  No, this does not involve the ever-growing porn collection on my computer.

It does, however, involve a singer who could arguably be called a gay icon (the Wikipedia seems to agree): Mariah Carey.  I have already confessed to a guilty enjoyment of her Daydream album, but I haven't actually listened to it in quite a long while.  Well, the other day I got the song "Always Be My Baby" stuck in my head, and had to dig out the CD, which was miraculously un-destroyed like most other CDs in the case (don't ask).  So... in addition to ripping it into the mp3 player and playing it while I was working in the kitchen, I blared it in the car.  Going down Kenilworth.  With all my windows down.  Singing along with "Always Be My Baby" at the top of my lungs and hitting. every. note.  It was great fun!  I felt young and carefree, and had a weird sensation of being in Florida (I don't even know). 

Of course, then I got home and was chatting with a neighbor kid... and I realized the album's older than he is (it came out in 1995, he's ten years old -- do the math).  That was a bit odd.


There is a marathon of New Scandinavian Cooking on the local PBS affiliate right now.  How can one man be so lucky?


Is there a particular reason I don't make quesadillas every day?  I made one today with a wonderful hard Irish cheese and leftover 40-clove chicken, and it was delicious and super quick!  I honestly don't think I have ever before in my life made a quesadilla... that is a crime against good food if I ever heard of one.


My thesis has to be given to my committee members Monday (or, in Dr. Cerquiglini's case, airmailed to Paris).  I spent a solid block from 2pm til about 11pm today reading translation theory and taking notes (well, except for the time I took to make a chicken groundnut stew, but I read during the downtime of that ever).  I basically have to write my translator's note tomorrow.  I haven't the vaguest idea how long it will be.  I fear it'll either ramble or end up disturbingly pompous.  Oh gods, what have I done?  Too much putting off, too much.  And now at the 11th hour I've decided that it needs to be more critically rigorous than I had originally intended.  Zounds.


Got my letter of admission from LSU two day ago.  The money's not as good as at OSU, although it's close, so... yeah.  Of course there are other factors to consider there, too, which could really work in either direction.  I mean, I'm here, staying wouldn't be uprooting myself at all (bonus.), but then again I wouldn't get that fresh start I'm looking for; geographic dislocation is a fine, tangible marker for new endeavors.  Of course, there's tone of admission, too: OSU has been very excited/-ing, very welcoming, while LSU was so businesslike as to be disturbingly brusque.  Also of course, Shane did mention that it wouldn't be at all a bad idea to look at the faculty's writings, since they will be the ones who will be molding/evaluating my work wherever I go.  And then again, Indiana's not even got back to me yet, and they will add a whole new dimension of madness to the mix.  Arg.  This was all so easy and cleancut for undergrad and my first grad program... I guess this is payback.
yrmencyn: (Default)
It's like the clouds opened up.  It's like a huge weight has been lifted from my chest.  I finally got an email from Zachary Richard today.  Background: I am translating an Entire Copyrighted Work.  This goes WAY beyond the already fuzzy legal boundaries of free use, so per university guidelines and for my own comfort I need a written authorization.  Well, he's been in Canada and out of touch, and I've got deadlines breathing down my neck, so I was getting stressed, more stressed than I realized.  So now I'm very happy.  I would be happier with actual paper, rather than a bloody email printout, but it'll do if it must.  I'm still hoping to be able to ask him questions and get constructive responses, but if this is all I get I'll take it.

This almost makes up for the fact that I've gotten to the endpages of the book, and it's full of long, complex multipage poems that give me a headache.  And make no bloody sense.  Hence I need to talk to the actual author.  Arg.  But still, a net yay!

[BTW, sorry Iowa City: Iowa doesn't want me in their program.  This is, of course, a grievous error on their part, but not one I can really change.  Now just to hear from LSU and Indiana, both of which I suspect will admit me.  Score: Mike 1, short-sighted schools who don't know what they're missing 2]
yrmencyn: (qc - drunk)
I win.  I win so so so very much.  I cannot even describe my total winningness, I'm so elated.

There's this poem in Faire récolte (that's the volume of poetry I'm translating) called "Shells de Shotgun."  It's hugely important, thematically, to volume as a whole, as it hinges around an advertisement Richard saw which said "La cartouche qui promet lagniappe" ("The [shotgun] shell that promises lagniappe [Louisiana term meaning roughly 'a little something extra']").  This is, as he says in the poem, perfect French... if you're in France.  Here in Louisiana, French speakers usually say 'shell', even in French discourse.  So, my problem is to come up with a similar situation in English: proper English, except, as Richard says, for the continent.

Well, I got to thinking, and I suspected that British English speakers don't say shotgun 'shell'.  I rather suspected they might say 'cartridge' ('cartouche' is generically translated as 'cartridge'), and the internet seems to confirm my suspicion (although if a British English speaker wanted to confirm that for me I wouldn't mind).  So, now I have a good equivalency.  I am so very happy.
yrmencyn: (Default)
It is an absolutely gorgeous day today.  The sky is completely clear and blue, the sun shines strong and bright, and the temperature is coming slightly down now from its mid-afternoon high of around 75.  I decided to take my lunch outside (leftover green onion soup, French bread, and fresh-brewed Assam iced tea), and on the basis of that experience decided to completely disregard my plans to get some hard-core work done on the thesis in the early afternoon.  It's a Friday, it's beautiful out, the jasmine is starting to bloom on the trellis, and I checked out Jeffrey Steingarten's It Must Have Been Something I Ate from the library yesterday.

Instead on working on translations, I sat in the sun and read the Steingarten.  Since it was so pleasantly hot, I changed into my lounging shorts (light nylon ones) and took off my shirt to bask.  Yes, like a lizard.  It's really quite strange, I don't think of myself as a sunbather, yet I do it more and more.  As I was doing an extensive clean of the kitchen earlier, I got to thinking about that.  I always thought of sunbathing as a rather vain activity, but I don't think of myself as a vain person; how to draw the distinction and form a rationale that prevents my brain from hemorrhaging?

I came up with a two-pronged attack.  First, I enjoy the sensation of the sun on my bare skin.  I was lucky enough to be born with pretty dark skin for a white guy, so sunburns are only an issue for me in extreme situations (river rafting for multiple days, high altitudes, etc).  Therefore I feel quite free to indulge in a hearty bath of radiation.  Furthermore, it's a question of self-image.  I see myself as a deeply tanned person.  I've actually been relatively pale for the last few years (about 2000 on, intrinsically linked to no longer directly supervising children in swimming pools every day for six to eight weeks in the summer), but when I was growing up I was dark in the summer.  DARK.  People occasionally thought I was Mexican, which is strange, since my facial features don't really reflect that, but I can't account for other people's inability to discern ethnic heritage.  So now, with my current paleness (relatively speaking), I've got a bit of a disjunct between my internal and external appearances, and it gets to me.  It's one of the reasons I cut off my long hair: my mental self-image has short hair.  I feel more comfortable in my skin when I get darker, hence closer to what I think I should look like.

Of course, I'm not going to be so obtuse as to completely deny the social conditioning factors inherent here.  As a culture, we like tanned people.  We constantly celebrate the hue of sundrenched bodies.  We think it gives people a healthy glow (although skin cancer specialists rightly hold a differing opinion).  And frankly, I'm willing to buy into the hype.  Cause you know what?  Even after just today, I feel hot.
yrmencyn: (Default)
I love it when things just come out right.  I had read, yesterday, Elise's recipe for cilantro pesto over at Simply Recipes, and was inspired.  I made up a batch of it, then mixed about half of it with some yogurt to make a marinade, into which I put a couple of chicken breasts, leaving them to absorb the flavors for an hour in the fridge.  To prepare, I tossed some thinly sliced onion and potato rounds with olive oil and laid them in the bottom of a baking dish, then placed the breasts atop to bake.  To finish them (well, the one I planned on eating tonight), I laid avocado slices on top, then slices of queso fresco, then let the cheese get all melty in the oven.  Sorry, no picture; I was starving and just dug in!  It was fabulous.  Only thing I'd do different in the future is let it marinate overnight, and maybe pound the thick part of the breast down a bit; it got just a mite dry.  Not that that stopped me from eating them.

The trip down to New Orleans was very relaxing today.  All told, I hung out with Dr. Humphries for a total of three hours.  It took us probably 1.5 or  hours to get through lunch, since every place we tried to go was closed out of nowhere.  We ended up having lunch at some random place on Chartres St., which was lackluster, but had the endearing quality of not being closed against all expectation.  Dr. Humphries' house?  Looks unassuming from the outside, but is amazing inside.  Very nicely decorated, and it's a damn menagerie.  He's apparently very involved with the SPCA and other animal welfare organizations (he's one of the cofounders of Bat Conservation International, apparently?!?!), so he has a number of exotics in his home (fully permitted, etc).  I knew about the fox.  I didn't know about the bats or the lemur or the kinkajous.  Evacuating from NO must have been... crazy.  And I did help give Chester a shot.  Hissy, hissy cat.

Yes, we did talk about my thesis some, but the animals are more interesting.

Also, speaking of animals, they found a bunch of new ones.  I mean, we find new bacteria all the time, new insects pretty frequently, but new higher-order species are relatively rare.  Well, a team of Western researchers went up into a mountain jungle in Indonesia-administered western Papua New Guinea and found a whole slew of things never before described by science.  The native guides said they knew of no human, Western or otherwise, who had ever been there.  The animals were entirely unafraid of humans, and allowed themselves to be picked up without protest.  It's... amazing.  The article's a great read, and it's got a slideshow!
yrmencyn: (Default)
From an email I just received from Dr. Humphries:
We are still on for tomorrow about 1 pm. I will send you some directions. You may have to assist me in administering an injection to a cat.
Oh, when will the hilarity stop?
yrmencyn: (food)
Hello.  Yes, I realize it's been a few days.

First off, the trip down to Metairie was quite successful.  It ended up being just me, Shane, Rebecca, and Vanessa.  We had dinner at the amazing Casablanca, a kosher North African/Middle Eastern restaurant.  Is it an hour away?  Yes.  Was it worth it?  Double yes.  Everything was absolutely amazing.  I stepped way the hell out of my comfort zone and ordered the fish tagine.  I'm not generally a fish eater, so ordering a fish stew... that's weird for me.  I was not disappointed, as it was delicious.  Tomatoes, peppers, potatoes, and some sort of whitefish, in a delicately spiced red broth, mmm.  The appetizer platter we started off with was also wonderful, with the first tabouli I've ever had that I didn't dislike, a smoky hummus that I still haven't figured out, and some sort of almost barbeque-y brown stuff that I adored (plus other good stuff like regular hummus, falafel, and spanakopita).  And then came dessert.  First, I had some delicious fresh mint tea, which pleased me.  But I also had what they called "sweet cigars."  Think baklava, but instead of layered phylo it's rolled into a tube, and then deep-fried.  And topped with honey.  SO.  GOOD.

Thanks to Ben, I got my Request for Master's Examination signed, and it's now turned in.  Whew.  Now I just have to, you know, write the rest of the thesis, heh.

Tonight Mandi got me to leave my house and go see a movie.  We ended up seeing Mrs. Henderson Presents, which is both funny and deeply affecting.  Topnotch; you should see this movie.  Coffee Call afterward was in no way a bad thing, either.  So there you go, caught up ish.

Oh, BTW: I've had multiple people tell me in the past few days that I am, in one domain or another, somewhat intimidating.  Er... ok?  I guess I can see it, maybe, but seriously: no need to be intimidated.  I'm all smoke and mirrors.  Presentation, presentation, presentation.
yrmencyn: (Default)
But I was supposed to go twice.  You see, I was supposed to have a meeting with my advisor there tomorrow midday, and then Rebecca (=Shane's girlfriend, recall) is having her birthday party at a kosher Moroccan place in Metairie tomorrow night.  For various reasons, mainly timing of doom, I was going to drive down for the meeting and then return before returning for dinner.

Until my advisor cancelled.  Which is fine and all that, cancellations happen, except that (1) I have a form requiring his signature, which I was hoping to acquire tomorrow and (2) I think he only remembered to tell me because I asked him where, by the way, I should be meeting him.  The form, arg, is annoying but surmountable.  I might could even swing by tomorrow while down for dinner, and if not there's always Ben the Long-Suffering Minion (who did come through just fine last time, did I mention?).  I'm just a little miffed about being offhandedly cancelled on for tomorrow.  It's not a big deal, and whaa whaa whaa, but still.  And besides, the entire purpose of a Livejournal is to whine self-centeredly to all and sundry, so deal.

Still, I get tasty Moroccan food tomorrow.  And I know I blather on about the madness of OMG!Specially!Prepared!Foods, but I've kind of started to come around to that point... kosher/free-range/etc meats really are more flavorful.  Course, whether that's because of good treatment or better feeding or differing breeds is anyone's guess; most specialty breeders/ranchers also use specialty breeds as far as I can tell.  Anyway.  I'm excited because I know ALL A-BLOODY-BOUT Moroccan food thanks to a long steeping in Maghrébin/Beur literature, but I have never once in my life eaten it.  I cannot wait to try a good Moroccan tagine.  Bisteeya would be amazing too, but given the choice I'll stick with the stews in funny hats (Google 'tagine' if that makes no sense).  Mmmm.

Oh well, I'll have plenty of time to translate and read Marcabru tomorrow.
yrmencyn: (Default)
I am such a pretentious bastard. I just asked for a Gen Mai Cha and a biscotto. A biscotto? Honestly. I'm not even certain if that's the proper singular in Italian (due to etymological reasons), and even were it, that's still a ridiculous latinization of colloquial English. Heh. Biscotto. Love it.

Know what else I love? My prof for Special Topics in French Lit (a.k.a. the Cajun Lit class). I need to get permission to use Zachary Richard's work for my thesis, but I've had no luck finding anything other than a website contact email for him, and while that *could* work as a contact medium, I'd really like something more firm, like a postal address. So, knowing that Dr. Ancelet is good friends with the man, I asked him (Ancelet) if he knew how I could get in touch with him. Without even thinking, he rattled off Richard's home phone number. *blink* I then explained that, though I'd be happy to call him, I'd also like something more concrete for written documentation, and he said he'd help me with that. And then he said he'd let Richard know I'd be contacting him, so that I wouldn't be just some random yahoo with a crackpot idea. Or, to put it as he did: "I'll run interference for you." THAT ROCKS SO HARD. *cough*

And while we're at it, you know what else I love? I love the cansos of the Coms de Peiteus (Le comte de Poitou/The count of Poitou). Old poetry from Medieval Occitania is wonderful. Take this last verse from "La Contraclau" ("La Contre-clé" / "The Counter-key" ; my translations):
Fag ai lo vers ; no say de cuy ;
e trametrai lo a selhuy
que lo'm trametra por autruy
enves Peitau
que'm tramezes del sieu estuy
la contraclau.

French and English translations )

Finally a semester in which I don't have a class I'm less than happy about.


yrmencyn: (Default)

December 2009



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