1) I don't quite understand Asian people who haven't quite figured out yet that Americans don't eat with their mouths open.
2) I had this dream Tues. night where I was looking at a car's speciality state license plate, and it was a special license plate with Sponge Bob on it, only it was a blue background with a spiral on it and it was his eyes and his head up really close, only his body was orange and his eyes were blue and had no pupils.
3) Tues. morning my blinds in my living room fell down - the plastic brackets snapped - but when I went to go call my landlords, I realized I had lost their contacts when my phone died and I never got them again.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Friday, May 29, 2009
LXX // That One Guy.
When I was translating from Tobit this morning, I ran across this totally weird word that took me like 10 minutes to figure out, and when I did, I realized they had patterned one verb form of a common verb off the verb form of a relatively less common verb, and my Septuagint grammar was no help at all about this. When I come across shit like this, I wonder how people who've never had linguistics training and are dependent on grammars and shit manage to figure it out (if they do).
Also, going through the student club this morning, I came in a side entrance, and standing on the stairs right there staring at everyone who walks through the door was that one weird Asian guy who loudly reads out loud from books in the lounge sometimes. It really creeped me out and I went to go report him to a guard, but the guard wasn't at his station when I went there.
Also, going through the student club this morning, I came in a side entrance, and standing on the stairs right there staring at everyone who walks through the door was that one weird Asian guy who loudly reads out loud from books in the lounge sometimes. It really creeped me out and I went to go report him to a guard, but the guard wasn't at his station when I went there.
2 stories about waste.
1) At that sangria-soaked bbq a few weeks ago, I somehow brought up that I save grocery bags to use for vegetable scraps so I wouldn't waste plastic, and someone was mentioning that they did the same thing, and so did their grandmother, who was actually more extreme than them; they remember once how she saved a wrapping from a store-bought apple pie to use for a waste bag, even though apple pie filling was caked all over the sucker.
2) Since it's a bad idea to waste potable water - so much energy has gone in to making it potable! - I now am very careful to only pour myself as much water as I am going to drink at once, so I don't dump the rest down the sink.
2) Since it's a bad idea to waste potable water - so much energy has gone in to making it potable! - I now am very careful to only pour myself as much water as I am going to drink at once, so I don't dump the rest down the sink.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Sandal / Egg.
Like 3 years ago I got some cheap wicker-soled sandals from H&M for house slippers, which I really like since they go with the natural-fiber carpet and the crepe upright lamp of my Danish haven. The sole on the left sandal has massively unravalled, though, and so little bits of wicker are all over the floor of my apartment.
Boiling up some eggs the other day - I have a hard-boiled egg each morning with breakfast, though to save energy I boil them all up at once and then put them in the egg rack of my fridge - one, I noticed, as I put it in the pot, was much taller and thinner than the rest, and had all sorts of empty space around it when I put it in the egg rack of my fridge!
Boiling up some eggs the other day - I have a hard-boiled egg each morning with breakfast, though to save energy I boil them all up at once and then put them in the egg rack of my fridge - one, I noticed, as I put it in the pot, was much taller and thinner than the rest, and had all sorts of empty space around it when I put it in the egg rack of my fridge!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Drinks.
That night after soul food, I went drinking with my one friend from Michigan at the student bar. It was late and we were pretty hammered, and right when we were both finishing our second drinks, we both happened to glance down the bar, and since a big table had just gotten up to leave, the bar was piled high with glasses and pitchers and dirty paper plates from hamburgers and fries and stuff, and we both happened to notice at the same time a pitcher half full of beer.
Like right at that moment, though, a girl walks up to the bar, and my friend is like, "Excuse us, could you pass that down?", and when the girl did that, my friend was like, "You have to pardon us, we're from Michigan, we're uncouth."
"I'm from Michigan," the girl said.
"Really?", I was like, "Where?", and though we had already established that all of us were from Michigan, like everyone who lives near Detroit but not in Detroit proper, she was like, "Oh, near Detroit," though not saying the actual name of the damn town.
"Really?", I was like, "Like what?", and she said, "[name of the town my dad grew up in, just south of Detroit]."
After that, I told her about my dad, and she didn't know him, then I remembered that my godmother's friend ran for mayor, so I asked her if she knew her, and she was like, "Yes, I'm friends with her granddaughter," and at that moment it struck me that she maybe knew my godmother, so I was like, "Oh, so do you know Marge [Marge's last name]?", and the girl lit up was like, "Marge is crazy! I love her! I'm like best friends with her daughter," and it turned out that she went to high school with my godmother's daughter and was now teaching at a school near my neighborhood in the city.
We talked a bit more, and the girl kind of backtracked on her affectionate statement that Marge is crazy, just saying that she loved Marge, and eventually she excused herself to go rejoin her friends.
"My God, that is crazy," I said to my friend.
"I know," my friend was like. "I just hope she doesn't remember how she stole beer off the counter for us."
. . .
Like the next day, when I was telling a friend this story, she suggested that the half-pitcher of beer was everyone's leftover beer that the bartenders had dumped into one place, so that me and my friend had actually consumed everyone's backwash at a table of over 16 people. I immediately knew she was right, and I had to suppress a gag - that was too much, even for me.
Like right at that moment, though, a girl walks up to the bar, and my friend is like, "Excuse us, could you pass that down?", and when the girl did that, my friend was like, "You have to pardon us, we're from Michigan, we're uncouth."
"I'm from Michigan," the girl said.
"Really?", I was like, "Where?", and though we had already established that all of us were from Michigan, like everyone who lives near Detroit but not in Detroit proper, she was like, "Oh, near Detroit," though not saying the actual name of the damn town.
"Really?", I was like, "Like what?", and she said, "[name of the town my dad grew up in, just south of Detroit]."
After that, I told her about my dad, and she didn't know him, then I remembered that my godmother's friend ran for mayor, so I asked her if she knew her, and she was like, "Yes, I'm friends with her granddaughter," and at that moment it struck me that she maybe knew my godmother, so I was like, "Oh, so do you know Marge [Marge's last name]?", and the girl lit up was like, "Marge is crazy! I love her! I'm like best friends with her daughter," and it turned out that she went to high school with my godmother's daughter and was now teaching at a school near my neighborhood in the city.
We talked a bit more, and the girl kind of backtracked on her affectionate statement that Marge is crazy, just saying that she loved Marge, and eventually she excused herself to go rejoin her friends.
"My God, that is crazy," I said to my friend.
"I know," my friend was like. "I just hope she doesn't remember how she stole beer off the counter for us."
. . .
Like the next day, when I was telling a friend this story, she suggested that the half-pitcher of beer was everyone's leftover beer that the bartenders had dumped into one place, so that me and my friend had actually consumed everyone's backwash at a table of over 16 people. I immediately knew she was right, and I had to suppress a gag - that was too much, even for me.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Soul Food.
So, on Friday night I went to another soul food restaurant with my one friend from my program who's originally from the south, often goes with me to karaoke, and likes soul food. The place we went to has been around for like 60 years or so and is decently famous, and is located like 15 streets south of us and a bit inland, and when we entered the restaurant, there was this black family in the side room for some kind of banquet function (a lady had digital video recorder out) and a pair of blues musicians playing for tips at the front of the restaurant. The waitress was an incredibly dark, shorter, late 40s black woman with her hair pulled back from her face and an infectious laugh, and was like, "Here!", when we had sat down at our table, and she gave us a breadbasket full of mostly saltines, and a few packages of those really dry and small pre-baked breadsticks that you have to eat with a lot of water.
When she came up to take our order, me and my friend were deferring to each other to order first, and she was like, "I don't care who goes first, but somebody's gonna!", and she said that very nicely, and laughed.
When my friend did go first, then, he wanted the fried chicken, but he wasn't sure if he should order a 1/4 or a 1/2 chicken, so he told the waitress that, and asked if it was too much, and she was like, "It's only two-dollars more," and then he said it wasn't about too much money, but rather too much food, and then he asked her again what she thought, and she was like, "It depends. You a chicken eater?"
"Like how much is it?", he was like, again, "Is it too much?"
"I said, it depends," she said, laughing, and then repeated herself - "You a chicken eater?"
As it turns out, he did get the 1/2 chicken, with sides of "sweets" (=sweet potatos) and spinach, and I got smothered porkchops with a side of spaghetti and a side of mac and cheese.
"You're a pasta guy!", the waitress was like. "I can tell!"
When she came up to take our order, me and my friend were deferring to each other to order first, and she was like, "I don't care who goes first, but somebody's gonna!", and she said that very nicely, and laughed.
When my friend did go first, then, he wanted the fried chicken, but he wasn't sure if he should order a 1/4 or a 1/2 chicken, so he told the waitress that, and asked if it was too much, and she was like, "It's only two-dollars more," and then he said it wasn't about too much money, but rather too much food, and then he asked her again what she thought, and she was like, "It depends. You a chicken eater?"
"Like how much is it?", he was like, again, "Is it too much?"
"I said, it depends," she said, laughing, and then repeated herself - "You a chicken eater?"
As it turns out, he did get the 1/2 chicken, with sides of "sweets" (=sweet potatos) and spinach, and I got smothered porkchops with a side of spaghetti and a side of mac and cheese.
"You're a pasta guy!", the waitress was like. "I can tell!"
Monday, May 25, 2009
Addendum.
At a party on Sat. night, I was mentioning how I was reading Tobit, and how there's a woman in there who's infested with the demon Asmodeus, so every many she marries dies.
"If that was me," this one Jewish feminist grad student who was at the party was like, "I would go around and purposefully marry assholes just to pick them off," and when everyone was taken aback, she was like, "What? I would!"
"If that was me," this one Jewish feminist grad student who was at the party was like, "I would go around and purposefully marry assholes just to pick them off," and when everyone was taken aback, she was like, "What? I would!"
Tobit.
Since I finished translating the account of the martyrs of Vienne and Lyons, I've decided to do some translation from the Septuagint (the Greek scriptures that Early Christians came to view as the Old Testament), esp. from those texts that were originally composed in Greek and only survive in Greek, and perhaps to do this in conjunction with a second-career doctoral student I know who is Jewish himself, and studies rabbinics against the background of the Greek and Roman world.
Anyhow, all at the end of last week I was translating Tobit, and I couldn't put it down, esp. since I got to the part where a bird shits in his eye and he goes blind.
But, right before that, my pen ran out (the pen I use to write down vocab words I don't know onto index cards, so I have the vocab handy again if I ever have to pick up the text and translate it or teach it), and I had to ransack my house for a working pen, only to find that there was only one left in my entire house, and that it was from Jewish Theological Seminary, since a rabbi from there who came to speak on campus last year gave out free pens at the end of his talk!
So, I thought that that was very appropriate to use in writing down words from a Jewish text, but then I remembered that my last pen was from a bank, and that that was kind of appropriate too.
Anyhow, all at the end of last week I was translating Tobit, and I couldn't put it down, esp. since I got to the part where a bird shits in his eye and he goes blind.
But, right before that, my pen ran out (the pen I use to write down vocab words I don't know onto index cards, so I have the vocab handy again if I ever have to pick up the text and translate it or teach it), and I had to ransack my house for a working pen, only to find that there was only one left in my entire house, and that it was from Jewish Theological Seminary, since a rabbi from there who came to speak on campus last year gave out free pens at the end of his talk!
So, I thought that that was very appropriate to use in writing down words from a Jewish text, but then I remembered that my last pen was from a bank, and that that was kind of appropriate too.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Bar.
On Thurs. I went downtown with a friend for free art museum hours, and then afterwards we felt like a drink, and I remembered that I had seen this sign suspended from a hotel roof across a vacant lot by the bus-stop going back to our neighborhood, and the sign was advertising a rooftop bar, so we went up there only to find the place packed.
Anyhow, we could barely get a seat, but then this one old guy with red hair whose eyes weren't right and was trying to talk up the waitresses but ended up talking more to himself got up to leave, so my friend snatched his seat, only to hear at that moment the bartendress be like, "Thank god the fucking pedophile left!", and when the other waitresses challenged her, she was like, "What? The man was a total fucking pedophile!"
The waitresses there were around my age and had on a lot of make-up and seemed like boozy fun (or at least half of them were; the other half were kind of mean), and the food was overpriced for what you got, but the drinks were fair and it's right downtown, so I'm totally going back there. The crowd was very mixed, too - anyone and everyone went there, though a little more late college-age people.
Anyhow, we could barely get a seat, but then this one old guy with red hair whose eyes weren't right and was trying to talk up the waitresses but ended up talking more to himself got up to leave, so my friend snatched his seat, only to hear at that moment the bartendress be like, "Thank god the fucking pedophile left!", and when the other waitresses challenged her, she was like, "What? The man was a total fucking pedophile!"
The waitresses there were around my age and had on a lot of make-up and seemed like boozy fun (or at least half of them were; the other half were kind of mean), and the food was overpriced for what you got, but the drinks were fair and it's right downtown, so I'm totally going back there. The crowd was very mixed, too - anyone and everyone went there, though a little more late college-age people.
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