22 X 2002 - 22:38 - quotidianus23

Only scattered thoughts from today...

The library scanner hates me and my inbox is full, so despite having managed to get some quality time in the computer lab with the good scanner (to get which I displaced a freshman or possibly a sophomore who I'm pretty sure could have been using another computer to surf the Internet, given that only one computer is hooked up to the scanner and all the rest are connected to the Internet, but instead I had to feel bad about displacing him), I have only three of the promised four pages up.

I met with my Latin teacher today about the translation I'm probably going to end up submitting for a contest in Maryland -- she likes it, and so when she spoke she pointed out only that there are a few issues of diction and meter (aside from the fact that the entire thing is rather beyond help, in my opinion). Despite the fact that I have very little homework tonight, having done most of it on Monday night, I still feel some pressure in considering that the postmark-by date is Friday... too soon, arrgh. It seems now that the work of translation brings a greater clarity to my life; by now, I really can't imagine ever doing anything but spending my time around words and books and research and looking up attestations. I know I'll have changed a good deal by the time I end up having to decide what I'll work at, but this classics thing doesn't seem half bad at all. Housman, here I come.

Although I don't know if I'll be crying, "I would have died for you but I never had the luck!"¹ as I near my deathbed.

But I get ahead of myself -- that's the germ of another entry (with my having read The Invention of Love through last night instead of my homework, what would be more natural?) -- and I promised you but impressions of today.

I try -- by the gods, I try, and in the end it still doesn't work. I'm still vulnerable, still as impressionable as a hot wax cylinder. No matter how much I close my eyes, try not to see, his form remains the same... why is it then that we always run into those we fear meeting the most? One more year and then with luck I shall be free.

But there is an irrational pride in the creation of his smile for me, and the watching of it... no, that's not bad, either.

I think I rather like it better when I say this in Latin.

Classmates as characters from Buffy, the Vampire Slayer: discussing my dear friend from chamber orchestra with a math classmate, I was treated to a long and vitriolic attack on his parentage, personal hygiene, and intelligence, or lack thereof. This was the conversation that followed.

odd: 'It strikes me that you're being rather unkind.'

illa: 'but it's true!'

odd: 'that doesn't mean you have to say it.'

illa: 'yes it does.'

Perhaps shades of Cordelia's 'Tact is just not saying true stuff'? (S2, E18 - "Killed By Death," since I don't know proper citation for episodic television.)

And, of course, I must mention the requisite 'Here's egg on my face!' moments of the day.

The first occured while I was rehearsing the Mozart oboe quartet with my group (technically Al's, but we can leave that for later) at lunch and being asked (as apparently pro tempore director of rehearsal and Possessor of the Score -- imbues one with mystical qualities, naturally) to check where the violin got a theme. I'm a cellist. I'm used to string quartets -- so naturally I look at the first line, forgetting that the oboe is the first line and the violin is second. Fine. I can deal with that -- except that not only am I looking at the wrong part, I'm looking at the wrong movement -- we're rehearsing the first movement, and I'm busily paging through the third. At least the key signatures are the same, although one might have thought the radically different appearance of 4/4 (first movement) and 6/8 would have tipped me off. Um, ha.

The second happened in English and was my reminder not to make snarky comments, even if they're in my head. We'd been talking about the role of marriage in comedy. One person (ille) muttered something which the teacher attributed to the person sitting next to him (hic), which then led us into a discussion of ventriloquy (which was merely one of the fascinating tangents we got ourselves into, the other being related to copyright/trademark/patent law and why Wilde's plays can now be produced cheaply). The teacher said, 'You did it so well I thought [hic] had said it!' at which point I thought, 'Um, all he really does in class is sit, rest his head on his desk, and look prettily confused.' At which point I proceeded to put my sweatshirt on backwards (hood over my face, wouldn't you know) and make the teacher laugh. At least only she noticed, or maybe it was that only she was indiscreet enough to laugh aloud.

The moral of this day is: no one is above fumbling, one shouldn't make snarky comments in the back of his head, and library scanners are evil.

And aren't those fine lessons to carry through life?

¹ Stoppard, Tom. The Invention of Love. New York: Grove Press, 1998.