In the next 14 hours (i.e., by bedtime), I have to write one (1) conference paper, one (1) lecture on why cultural theory is eating its own foot, prepare one (1) three-hour (3-hour) seminar on Janet Frame's autobiographies, mark one (1) batch of honours student essays, reply to seventeen (17) emails, procure four (4) essential grocery items, prepare myself spiritually for the settlement on one (1) apartment (Tuesday!) and suitcasily for (1) trip to Newcastle, aka Conferenceville. I also need to wash my sheets, in which I have been living for the past few weeks so as to avoid having to get out the heater and break my No Heater Until June rule. And not to go on about the demands on my time, but there's also a sweet potato on my window sill all set to turn into a triffid if I don't eat it today. Today, I tell you. A triffid.
So, in lieu of writing something proper, here's a SHOCK NUDE CELEBRITY PIC WITH MYSTERY HANDS.
Rumours that Wilbur is, in fact, pregnant await confirmation.
10 comments:
cultural theory is eating its own foot
Gosh, it's cleverer than anyone would have known.
three-hour (3-hour) seminar on Janet Frame's autobiographies
Well, let's see... A five minute break at the end of the first hour and then a ten minute break at the end of the second, plus the amount of time it's permissible to spend showing film clips... What does that get you down to? Then a few judiciously-inserted five-ten minute group discussions... I wrote about Janet Frame in my honours thesis many long years ago. I'm sure I could dig some books up, but my throwing arm is out of shape.
As for conference papers, I've got this research-cum-performance piece in development, in which the conference-goer reads extracts from the telephone book in a suitably melodious way to see if anyone notices. M is at a conference in Marrakesh and he only has to stand beside a poster. Meanwhile, I went to the dentist for 1.5 hrs the other day. Sigh!
Any opportunity for taking in some wineries?
Very exciting about the settlement.
E (has to prepare her own monstrosity in two 4-hr parts, but is confident enough in her own lack of professionalism to believe she can get it down to 3hrs).
UPDATE: I've eaten the sweet potato.
(Thanks for yr wisdoms, Eyrie. No time to give them the reply they deserve. Janet Frame's sort of under control, thanks.)
It seems that your Mother's Day is being spent in the throes of academic labour pangs. How appropriate/horrific.
(Though: at least you are only beset by mental sproglets, rather than real ones who would crawl all over your scattered Janet Frame notes and play catch with your sweet potato.)
(Though, again: I am not entirely sure that honours student essays could not do those things anyway. Mine are draining me of so much thoughtpower I'm convinced they're using it to develop sentience.)
(Hello I Am Not Dead And Hope You Are Not Either.)
Will your pot plant be making it to Conferenceville? It sounds like the ideal place for a summit to hammer out the terms of alliance between microstates, though all the human wants to do is talk about books!
See you there then, Hippo? Sans pot plant, for my part. The aeroplane people get very tetchy about conspicuous interstate botanical transports.
Blue Haired Jennifer, I salute your ongoing existence, yea verily I do. I'm excited by the prospect of creepy-crawly honours essays. Bring 'em on, I say. Bring - them - on.
Wilbur "Tom Lehrer" Harlot(sings):
I hold your hand in mine, dear,
I press it too my lips:
I take a healthy bite from
Your dainty fingertips:
My joy would be complete, dear,
If only you were here:
But still I hold your hand
As a precious souvenir!
I hope you're not accusing Beagle Harlot of anthropophagy, Comrade Tim.
Ehrm, it was either that or the champignons?
And in all that time you managed to post one (1) blog post and even write each number both in words and numeric symbols. Well done you!
Post a Comment