"Above, below, the rose of snow,
Twined with her blushing foe, we spread:
The bristled Boar in infant-gore
Wallows beneath thy thorny shade.
Now, Brothers, bending o'er th' accursed loom
Stamp we our vengence deep and ratify his doom...
With me in deadful harmony they join,
And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line"
Yeah. YEAH. THAT.
Ahem. So anyway, I'm a little bored here. I've almost finished my Christmas shopping which, honestly, was way less fun than it would have been, were I not impoverished. Alas, such is my fate, and such is the crap I bought for my family members. Please don't judge me.
What else happened? I went out with some fellow historians for drinks on Monday, which was not as much fun as it could have been, since I was drinking pints o' diet coke. Still, it was nice to meet up with more people outside of a classroom setting and...talk about every class we had this semester? Apparently you can take the nerd out of the school, but you can't take the school out of the nerd. At least, not without a pretty serious operation, which I think they only perform in the Phillipines. But, I mean, it can be done.
I've also been all over town looking for peppermint schnapps to put in hot cocoa. Not only do the British not carry peppermint schnapps, all they have is peach schnapps (ew), which they pronounce to rhyme with "snaps." FOR REAL, BRITISH? Let's have some class. Though it is comforting to know that Americans haven't completely cornered the market on nasality. Alas encore, I am forced to drink cocoa sweentened with Bailey's, but embittered with my coursing tears.
Ooh, I've found a new band that I like! They're called Le Vent du Nord, and through their music I can simultaneously indulge three of my passions: fiddles, clog dancing and French. Don't look at me like that. Like THAT. All askance. I'm secure in myself.
Ummmm...I took this picture the other day, walking home from the shopping district.
The English major in me suggests that it illustrates the duality of Scottish culture: the prestigious academic, stern religious, and violent clan histories represented by the imposing Scott monument, the fun-loving and playful people best known for the fried Mars bar embodied by the brightly-lit Ferris wheel, less formal and attention-seeking than the London eye.... Then the history major tells the English major that it really isn't socially acceptable to just pull deeper meanings out of your ass like that, and to shut the hell up if what you're saying can't be adequately cited.
Anyway. Yes, I do talk to myself.
Home in six days!
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