mhuzzell: (Default)
Having listened to Maddy Prior & June Tabor's album 'Silly Sisters' several times at work the other day, I found myself with their version of Geordie stuck in my head -- only, annoyingly, I couldn't remember all the words, so had just snippets. Thinking to exorcise it through fuller knowledge, I opened up a songbook, Rise Up Singing, that I knew to have a version of it, to scan the lyrics.

Now, I am no stranger to folk music; I'm well aware that there are about a bajillion versions of every song, especially older ones, and that they vary considerably in both words and music. This, however, was a broader divergence than I ever would have expected. The very story changes dramatically! The basic story of a man called Geordie being condemned, and then his wife coming to beg for his life is the same, but they diverge in almost evey other aspect. And I know they are supposedly the same song, as well, since the songbook lists the 'Silly Sisters' album as an example recording!

In Prior & Tabor's (which turned out to be this version, originally transcribed by Robert Burns), Geordie was a nobleman framed for the murder of another. His lady rides to court and is told his life will be spared if she collects a ginormous ransom, which she does, and so buys his freedom. In the Rise Up Singing version -- as in most other, especially English versions, it turns out -- Geordie is a poacher, and when his wife comes to beg for his freedom, she is turned away, and he dies. Talk about alternate endings!

A musician, identified only as 'Ian' in this Mudcat thread describes his own recording of the song as "an English song about a disproportionate punishment for a crime which evolved from a Scottish song about a frame-up". The Scottish versions do seem to generally pre-date the English ones (though they also seem to have become less common), and I guess changing the condemned man to reflect a common-ish crime in your area, for which the punishment is widely seen as vastly unjust, does make a sort of sense. As, given the former, does having him actually die rather than get ransomed at the last minute. But at this point, is it even still the same song? Could there have been some other English song (or several) that got morphed into this one because the tune was catchy and the story was distilled and familiar?

Oddly, this recording by Ewan MacColl seems to combine elements of several versions, but seems mostly drawn from this one, known as Gight's Ladye. Geordie's wife is still a noblewoman of some sort, but Geordie's crime is poaching. She isn't turned away out of hand, though, and goes through with the begging for ransom money as in the other Scottish versions. However, it seems to me that her success in this is left ambiguous while the narrator is distracted by telling the tale of her verbal harrassment by a bawdy lord. Though, granted, my impression of ambiguity could merely be from an inferior understanding of Scots; it's certainly not ambiguous in the 'Gight's Ladye' version given on Mudcat. But why this "Bog o' Gight" stuff? Well, a little googling proved illuminating: 'Bog-Of-Gight' is an old name for Gordon Castle, and the earliest historical event to be associated with this song/set of songs was the story of a George Gordon, who would have been lord of said castle at the time -- although the actual events of his life, at least as given on Wikipedia, don't quite line up with the song, and they CERTAINLY don't line up with the 'Gight's Ladye' version, though at a stretch they could be described by Burns' 'Geordie'.

So what is going on here? It seems unlikely that an earl -- who'd have his own hunting preserves, after all -- would be brought up for poaching. Yet the 'Gight's Ladye' version preserves an awful lot of specific names and places, far more than Burns' 'Geordie'. Could the crime have been changed to make the song more populist in one area, while in another the events were recorded more faithfully even as the names all dropped away? It's nearly impossible to tell. Though for those who feel like making minute comparisons between versions (woefully void of any information about where or when or how they were collected), it turns out Wiki has transcriptions of all of Child's collections.

Meanwhile, a few thoughts on the Burns/Child A version. In it, Geordie is framed (or blamed for the death, anyway, regardless of guilt), and his lady, upon receiving the news of his captivity, rushes to Edinburgh with all of her men. Later on, after she's made her tearful case to the king, but before the aged lord suggests a fine instead of death, we get this verse, which on first listen seems to break the pattern of the story considerably:

The Gordons cam and the Gordons ran,
And they were stark and steady;
And ay the word amang them a'
Was, Gordons keep you ready.

Then we see the king's advisor suggesting that a fine might be the wiser course of action. Because this lady brought a freaking army with her to "beg" for her dearie's life. Conclusion: the 'fairest flower o' woman-kind' is a lot more badass than you might expect.
mhuzzell: (Monty Python)
I am trying to align my ducks. Life, roof, relationship, food, friends, visa, job, life. Not necessarily in that order.

It's 2:36 am and I can't sleep again. I can never sleep, except in the mornings. It's frustrating, because Harry is as diurnal as a fucking songbird, while I am more like a moth with a computer, hypnotized by the glowing screen, and so between sleep and work I hardly get to see him. And we are moving away to different cities soon. Phooh.

I've been working all the shows this week at the Byre, which is actually all the same show, and has been the same show all month. It's been running through my head and invading my thoughts. This post contains numerous references.

I have escaped, though, a little. I am moving to Edinburgh in a couple weeks, and I've been back and forth a few times, for the Fringe. I always mean to talk about the stuff I see, but mostly the description in my head is an incoherent babble that doesn't seem worth committing to writing. Instead, here's a bare list of my recommendations, in the order in which I saw them (no guarantee they're still on, but hey): The Grind Show, Zeitgeist, The Diary of a Mad Man, The Rap Guide to Evolution, The Rebel Cell.

I am officially a hipster now, though, apparently, because some trendy-looking guy asked to photograph my bag with all the badges. But I'm also officially a nerd, 'cause later on at the Amanda Palmer concert, her supporting band sang a song which said [something along the lines of] "This is the last great statement ever made by rock-and-roll" and all I could think of was Francis Fukuyama.

Hell, I'll own 'nerd'. I finally saw 'Twilight', only because it was overdubbed by the guys who do Mystery Science Theater 3000. Hi-larious. Almost as good as this, which having actually seen the film now allows me to appreciate:

mhuzzell: (Monty Python)
I am taking a history class about the American folk music revival. It's theoretically pretty cool. It's actually pretty theoretically barren. Yesterday's seminar discussion topic was 'The Political Left, Folksong and Social Protest in the Inter-War Period'. My initial discussion partner blethered on about how she didn't think the Communist Party was really 'as bad' as to want to 'take over' -- as though toppling capitalism were not part of their stated agenda; worse, as though toppling capitalism were a bad thing in the first place.

This pointed out, she backed up to 'well, the folk singers were not so interested / influential in the CP anyway'. Which would have been a good point for discussion, both in our pair and as a whole class -- that there were different levels of political engagement, that the Left was, as it has always been, kaleidoscopically fragmented, that despite this the Communist Party held a lot of power and influence at the time, the tensions this caused, etc. But no. Discussion was kept to the stupidest common denominator, even as we listened to 'Joe Hill' in class, and, in the back of my mind, Sarah Ogan Gunning sang "I hate the capitalist system, I'll tell you the reason why..."

So could I, come to that. Not that it has killed anyone I know personally. But it just might bring about the end of the world as we know it. Part of the project of my dissertation -- the private part, the potential outcome, for the text itself must all be critical engagement with various theories -- is to try to wrestle some kind of unity of purpose from the aforementioned kaleidoscope of 'Left-wing' politics. The hope is that impending environmental disaster can provide a sort of 'common enemy', just as fascism did in the '30s. I don't know how I expect this one to succeed, though, given the ultimate triumph of neoliberalism in that fight.

Hell, already, next week's political fight (the University Rector Election) is between a Green and a Socialist. And even though it was me who initially proposed the Socialist, to be honest I'd be just as happy with the Green -- and terrified about splitting the vote against the right-wing celebrity who is rumoured to be the other candidate. So forgive me, guys, if I withdraw a little bit, at least until I get my strategies and justifications sorted out. This 'us-vs.-them' attitude is killing us; it's killing me, anyway.

P.S. The Daily Show gets its claws out! Brief review on What I Think About Stuff
mhuzzell: (Monty Python)
It was all over the news, these last few weeks: Jay-Z was at Glastonbury Festival. I first heard of it in a little radio story where Jay-Z denounced some racist comments made by some fans and apparently other artists, as well. Which is all well and good. Fair enough to puzzle over the inclusion of a very popular but mediocre hip-hop star in the year's biggest intentional-hippie-vibe festival, but don't be a goddamn racist about it.

Then I learned, from this week's New Statesman, that he was brought in for racist reasons in the first place. "I don't understand the music," said Michael Eavis, the Festival's founder and director, but "I was very keen on the Obama thing . . . With [Barack] Obama coming through in America it seemed very appropriate to have a black fella headline Glastonbury." In other words, 'that Obama's so hot right now, and he's black. Black music = hip-hop, so let's get in some hip-hop fella to show how down with the kids we are. Who? Well, I don't know that much about it, but how about that Jay-Z? I've heard of him, so we know he's popular -- they'll love him!'

It is deeply, disturbingly, and, worst, seemingly unconsciously racist. It is much more disturbing, to me, than the (apparently) racist comments of Oasis member Noel Gallagher, that "Glastonbury has a tradition of guitar music . . . I'm not having hip-hop at Glastonbury. It's wrong" -- which the article describes as "denouncing the lack of Anglo-Saxon rock in the top slot".

Now, admittedly, I didn't see the interview the NS is pulling that quote from, and maybe he did bemoan the lack of 'Anglo-Saxon' rock elsewhere therein. But I am still concerned by the characterisation of rock as 'white' and hip-hop as 'black'. Even acknowledging the tendencies of genres to split up along racial lines, to characterise an entire genre as belonging to a particular race seems like a throwback to the bad old days when WASPish suburban parents would fearfully warn their pleat-skirted teenage daughters of the dangers of 'black music' (a scene played out, again and again, in the subtext of almost every new parental advisory warning controversy).

But simply to acknowledge that the festival has a history of playing a certain type of music, and to denounce the inclusion of a completely different sort of artist as a headliner, is not in itself racist. Certainly not as racist as giving Jay-Z the slot solely on the basis of his skin colour in the first place. And to choose Jay-Z of all people. It's sickeningly ignorant. If he wanted someone black, why not Ben Harper? He's totally got the hippie vibe. Or if he wanted a rapper, why not one of the many, y'know, talented, political types, who rap about stuff that people who go to Glastonbury Festival might care about, instead of some pop-chart blingman who just happens to be popular enough that even middle-aged former hippies have heard of him?

And then there's the Obama thing. What the hell? I mean, seriously, what the hell? Eavis wanted a hip-hopping black 'fella' for a headliner because of Obama? Obama, who has no connection whatsoever to hip-hop, rap, or anything like it -- his out-of-touch placement in relation to that culture evidenced, first, by the fact that he appeared on Ellen in the first place, but even more by entrance thereon, doing the white-boy shuffle. Obama, who has been multiply accused of being 'not black enough'. That Obama? Get real, Eavis. Get a fucking clue, and get with the times.

. . .

Such as they are. Yesterday, The Guardian ran a story about how ethereal identity politics are clouding over the real issues in this eleciton. The article talks about how press focus on race and gender and the courting of ever more specific groups within the electorate are distracting us from more immediate issues, like the war[s] and the [flagging] economy, which are so much more distressing, calling our collective refocusing a 'pleasant sabbatical from reality'.

The criticism has some merit, but although news coverage has focused quite a lot on the race-and-gender thing, especially during the primaries, that doesn't mean that the press is entirely ignoring the real issues. According to my just-now search of The Guardian's website, they have run 29 stories mentioning Obama in the last two days, of which only about a third seem to be about his image -- which may be more than average anyway, given the recent controversy over the cover of the New Yorker, a cartoon satirising the popular right-wing perception of Obama.

The fact is, Mr Hope and Change has done an about-face on all these nitty-gritty 'reality' issues, zipping so far and so fast to the right that our collective heads are spinning. It's breaking my heart, and even more completely, it's breaking what little hope I had left for a political solution to, well, just about anything. There's nothing left for me in politics. Nothing. The ironic thing is that all last year I defended Obama over Hillary Clinton on the basis that she was a turncoat, having been so liberal in the early nineties before slipping further and further towards the centre-right, the political hyperbola of the highest power and the lowest convictions. Now I'll eat my words, and my spleen, and work for real change in the real world -- outside of the nether-world of politics.
mhuzzell: (Monty Python)
On Coping:

Somehow, in June, a monumental mistake was made, and I was given a job as a cook. I've never been much of one for cooking. Oh, I can stir things and chop things and such, but concepts such as 'done', 'enough' and 'season to taste' have always baffled and intimidated me; I generally volunteer to do the washing-up instead. But, much to my surprise, I am handling it okay. Not only that, I am beginning to get more confident with my own cooking at home. A few days ago I made roast vegetables.

The most difficult part of this job, though, is the time-pressure aspect. I can handle one or two orders at a time just fine, but any more than that inspires an overwhelming sense of OMGZ PANIC, and I can feel my heart start to race, and my hands start to shake--and that just makes everything worse. Today, though, there was a big rush, and with a little help from Nicola and Maria it went through without a hitch.

On 'TMI':

The last entry I wrote was 'private'. This is partially because I had planned the title of this entry when I wrote the last one (it fits, damn it; and I am not so much of a nerd...), and it disturbed the continuity. But mostly it's because I don't think anyone particularly wants to hear my musings on the effects of the birth control pill. Which is fair enough. But I really don't like having a 'private' entry on LJ, because it seems to me that it kind of defeats the purpose of putting it online in the first place. I have a paper journal for things that are actually private, but I generally only use it for really important things, not stuff about my body.

And yet 'stuff about my body' is important. It's a big part of my life (obviously), which is why my little complaints often end up on LJ and cause my sister's cries of TMI! TMI! Besides, it's often intermingled with things besides the gory details, and some people might want to read about things like, in this case, my experiences with the Pill--had I heard of these particular side effects, I certainly might not have been so keen to try it. I suppose I could just put stuff behind cuts. But a whole entry? Ah, fuck it. I'll just move it here.

Cut for TMI: On The Birth-Control Pill )

And finally:

I've been listening to a lot of Byrds covers of Bob Dylan songs recently. They are bloody awful: poppy and bland, completely stripped of any soul. I love Gene Clark, but I think he did better when paired with bluegrass-twangy Doug Dillard than the fucking mainstream-hippie butterfly bullshit that was The Byrds. I still love 'Turn, Turn, Turn'.
mhuzzell: (Blue Nude)
I've been in a weird mood lately. Like I've withdrawn from the world. I feel like I'm floating, slipping, pulled along in the undercurrent and unable to surface.

I've spent most of this evening watching stupid television and trying to learn how to knit plaits. I've decided it's not wasting time: it's theraputic. The knitting is, anyway.

Following knitting patterns is very much an act of trust, especially with weird stitches like cables. They just look like they're going the wrong way until you're pretty far in--how many times did I have to resist taking out the stitches and turning around the slips?

Which, oddly enough, has me wondering about fate again. Not in the fun 'free will vs determinism' philosophical way, but in the psychics and astrologers sort of way. Most of the 'psychic' stuff out there is blatant bullshit, so vaguely worded that just about anyone could think it true for themselves. But my mum is pretty into the whole New Age scene, and one of her friends who 'talks to angels' told me something pretty specific that she said would happen in my second year at university. There's a month left of it, I suppose--and it's possible that it has already happened without my being aware of it. But I don't think so. I'm not even sure if I believe in any of this stuff. But the nice thing about fate is that if it is real, then it doesn't matter whether I believe in it or not; it will happen anyway.

Anyway, through this haze, a Good Thing has occured: my uncle has somehow managed to extract the music from my old computer (which could not write CDs or even read DVDs), and yesterday a pair of DVDs arrived in a small and glorious parcel, labelled 'Molly's Music Vol. I' and 'Molly's Music Vol. II'.

ETA: I had to look up the lyrics for the title of this entry (CCR, "Have You Ever Seen the Rain?"), because to me it sounded like "mumble-forever mumble-goes, through the circle fast and slow". While I like the "'til forever on it goes" line, looking up the lyrics ruined the line that followed for me. The actual words are "it can't stop, I wonder", but I had always heard "it can't stop my wonder". I still prefer my words. The first is a banal meditation on the possibility of time and such to actually cease; my understanding was a simple statement: that observations of the world could never diminish my awe of it.
mhuzzell: (Default)
I walked under a ladder on Friday the 13th. Twice. I was meeting some friends in MaBell's, and the quickest way to get there (and back) was through a really narrow alleyway, which had some scaffolding up in it, and a ladder on the scaffolding--so it was kind of unavoidable. I'll admit it, though, I tried to edge myself past on the far side of it. In the evening I was waiting for the black cat that lives near Hall to cross my path, but she never did.

I'm not superstitious, really--I don't actually believe that 'bad luck' will befall me if I walk under a ladder or something--but I was sort of 'raised' superstitious. I think it's just a little more than mere habit that makes me, say, throw spilt salt over my left shoulder. It's an urge much like the obsessive-compulsive ones that tell me the door must be either shut or open (never cracked or ajar), or that my socks have to match (in terms of size, shape, and elastic pressure, not colour). And yet when I hear other people's superstitions, they sound utterly stupid. Like my friend Julia's thing about "splitting the pole": if a group of people are walking together, they have to walk around the same side of a pole or similar obstacle, otherwise it's 'bad luck'. Which is just silly. If there's any such thing as luck, then--by its very definition--surely there's nothing we can do to influence it.

On another note... It's sunny again! I should really spend more time outside, while it's nice like this. I've been watching a lot of movies recently. I finally saw 'The Big Lebowski', which was every bit as awesome as everyone says it is. However it also provided yet another opportunity to be appalled at who hasn't heard of Creedence Clearwater Revival. How can you appreciate lines like "At least they left the tape deck--and the Creedence" if you're unfamiliar with the wonderousness of CCR? I used to think it was just an American thing, but Luke is American and he hadn't heard of them. Maybe it's just a Southern thing. Or maybe it's another 'Molly listens to middle-aged man music' thing.

So, off to the outside. Yesterday afternoon was spent at the beach with Debbie and, varyingly, Dominique, John, John's friend Alistair, and eventually Hannah. The eider ducks that were in the sea over break seem to have left. I'm glad I got to see them this year. Now: more outside while I still can. (ETA 7/5: The ducks are still there. They must have just been gone at the time because the tide was low.)
mhuzzell: (Default)
This has been a week of essays and campaigns, and interesting stuff on every single evening--half of which I couldn't go to due to essays. Why does everything always happen at once? There's also a poetry festival on... I haven't managed to go to any of it so far, and I'm not sure I will. Shame.

Stop the War Panel )

Student elections were this week, too. Despite all the madness surrounding them, I was quite pleased not to have gotten that politician vibe off of any of the candidates I talked to (well, perhaps a little from Tom, but it was wholly countered by his general niceness). I don't know what it is that bugs me so much. Maybe it's the insincerity, smiling at everything and everyone and not really meaning it. At least that's how I feel whenever I'm campaigning for anything, as I was doing these past few weeks for Ethical Investment. It scares me how easily it comes, after a while: the empty sunny smile, the cheerful question or request ("Hi, would you like some information?", "Vote yes for Ethical Investment!", &c.). I don't like it at all, no matter how necessary it is, no matter how much I believe in what I'm campaigning for.

It has its benefits, though. Minor victory of the week: I got Sam Hart to flier for us. I was supposed to have been handing them out at mealtimes in Hall, but as this seemed a bit rude, I decided instead to just leave them around on tables and things while I wandered about, disseminating information like a cat spraying. While I was busy threading one through the chupa chups at the tuck shop, Sam was hanging around and criticising the whole idea of Ethical Investment. So I put a flier in his pocket, and instead of recycling or (I wouldn't put it past him!) binning it, he just took it out and left it on the tuck shop counter. Which is exactly what I had been doing--thus he fliered for us. Okay, I know it's a stretch, but it still amused me.

[Tenuous segue: on the topic of Good Things that Sam Hart opposes]
Fairtrade rant )

[Not even a pretense of segue]
The St Andrews biology department has a little museum housing a Victorian collection of preserved and taxidermied animals. I'd been meaning to go see it for ages, and finally did on Thursday... with live music! I've seen bands play in galleries before, but never in a taxidermy museum. That was awesome. Maybe it's just that I'm a complete nerd (highlight of the evening: they have a cassowary!), but really, how often do you get to hear a song that talks about whale bones, in a room with whale bones in it? Good song, too--inspired, they said, by Poe's Annabel Lee, a poem delightfully ruined for me by reading Nabokov's Lolita, and by a knowledge of Poe's own life: how he fell deeply in love with his young cousin, and married her when she was 13 and he was 27. Still, I love music inspired by literature. "Pastures of Plenty", for instance, absolutely radiates Steinbeck; it's lovely.

Right. God damn that's a long entry. I think I'll put some of it behind a cut. Then I shall go Facebook cuddle up with Kant's Critique of Pure Reason. Yes, such are my plans.
mhuzzell: (Monty Python)
A couple of days ago, I woke up without an arm. So it seemed, anyway. I must've just rolled over, because I couldn't feel my right arm, but I wasn't lying on it either. And when I turned my head to look for it, it wasn't there. Reaching out with my other hand, I found it draped off behind my head somewhere, dead from fingertips to shoulder. The feeling of dead limbs waking up is excruciating, but I have never felt more grateful for it; the moment of panic I felt before I found my missing arm clung to me all that day, and I found myself randomly flexing my hand at times, just to make sure it was still there.

That evening, watching 'Romeo & Juliet', I empathised very much with Juliet's fear at the Friar's suggested solution to her problem:
When presently through all thy veins shall run
A cold and drowsy humour, for no pulse
Shall keep his native progress, but surcease:
No warmth, no breath, shall testify thou livest;

...the very idea makes me shudder in remembered horror.

And on the topic of things that horrify me: I think I need to switch Modern Philosophy tutorials. In the first one, my tutor didn't really seem to know what he was talking about, but I figured I should give him a chance. Now, four tutorials in and too late to claim an unforseen schedule conflict, it's become all too clear that he had no fucking clue what he's talking about. In the Locke tutorial, he kept saying that one of the objections was actually part of Locke's Essay, despite repeated corrections from his students. He also told me that "All bachelors are unmarried" is not an analytic truth (one that is true because of the definitions of the words), because "it would have to be 'all bachelors are unmarried males'" *headdesk* Besides that being a mischaracterisation of analytic truth, 'unmarried male' is not even a complete definition of 'bachelor'! It would have to be 'unmarried man'--a subtlety he had previously refused to acknowledge.

But this last tutorial, on Hume, was the clincher. First he said that Hume's 'impressions' referred only to sensory experience, not emotions ("passions"). Then he raised the question of whether or not gravity was scientifically accepted when Hume was writing. When we pointed out that Newton had published on the subject about a century previously, he said that well, maybe Hume hadn't read Newton. WHAT? And this is the man who's supposed to grade my essay on Hume?

But... I'm not really sure how to go about switching. I could give Rhona some thin scheduling excuse, like the fact that my bike is broken so I keep being late to tutorials (which is true). I'm not sure if she's allowed to switch me just for my own preference, even if it is on the basis of serious doubts about my tutor's ability to teach (or even understand) the subject.

ETA: Why does Pandora have so many versions of 'Five Hundred Miles' (Hedy West, not the Proclaimers), and why (so far) aren't any of them any good? It's a pretty simple song. It amazes me that so many people have bothered to record it, but it absolutely astounds me that so many people have managed to fuck it up. I like that song. (But it's provoked me onto a distance calculator. Lord, I'm 3703 miles away from home.)
mhuzzell: (Monty Python)
Favourite Songs Meme ) I'm waiting for a phone call.
mhuzzell: (Blue Nude)
I'm tired. I'm grouchy. I want to go home. I just want to go home, but the home I want doesn't even exist anymore. I want to lie in my hammock on the porch, watch the hummingbirds buzzing in and out of the forest, listen to the chickadees and wrens twittering, and care for nothing but how to coax the cat into the hammock. I want to throw myself on the breast of the forest and feel it embrace me; to smell the leaves and the sweet-sharp sap in the trees; to know the unutterable complexity of nature expressed in such simple pleasures; to wander through the woods and discover a thousand small wonders by the edge of the swamp. The swamp... that they're now building a road through. And the woods around won't even exist, reduced to a mere sound-barrier for what few people chose to stay on the road (that is, those whose houses and pastures weren't being torn down to build the road).

I know that I could find other forests, but none will ever be quite the same as those I knew as a child. Even returning to them in the last couple of years, as I have on occasion when business brought my mother to the old house, I can see the impact the development has had on them. I haven't been there since they started to build the road, though (I'm not even entirely sure they've started). I don't think I want to see it.

But even so, I've spent all summer in the fucking city. I'm tired of it. I want to breathe the summer air and not taste concrete and gasoline and 70,000 people's B.O.

I'm only here for a few more weeks, but right now it seems like an eternity. I guess it doesn't help that I haven't exactly known where I'm moving/living for the past week or so.

Soundtrack to my Biopic )
mhuzzell: (Monty Python)
To anyone thinking of getting Cingular’s Pay-as-you-go plan: DON’T. It’s a fucking ripoff. A dollar a day PLUS 10 cents a minute—when I bought it, I asked specifically whether that dollar was inclusive of the first 10 minutes, and was told that it was. It isn’t. Bastards.

On the plus side, I can hopefully shed this stupid phone plan like a dirty glove, since my dad comes to town tomorrow. Further on the plus side, my dad comes to town tomorrow! And my little brother, too!

More rambling observations:

1. www.pandora.com is amazing.
2. So is Jackson C. Frank (discovered at above website), particularly his song “Blues Run the Game”
3. Said song is impossible to find to download, at least in its original recording—and the album is freaking expensive for what it is.
4. Simon & Garfunkel’s version of said song (thank you Uni Hall MyTunes), pales in comparison to Frank’s. It’s like the Byrds’ version of “Mr. Tambourine Man” compared to Bob Dylan’s.

Exam Time!

May. 18th, 2006 08:24 pm
mhuzzell: (Monty Python)
Exams: 2 down, 2 to go. Modern History exam was a manful struggle, but I think I did fairly well. Linguistics exam nearly kicked my ass, but I think I came out of it much better than last semester's Scottish History exam, which not only kicked my ass, but dragged me through the dirt and ditches by my hair, then spit on me. Bastard. (Following this, I rode my horse off a cliff in a storm and plunged the kingdom into a decades-long succession crisis which led to 100 years of war with England!)

My Modern Histoy exam was on my birthday. That night a small group of us went out to the Cellar Bar, though many people couldn't come because of studying. It was a nice night, though.

Today started off crappily at about 1 am, when I attempted to go to bed. Unfortunately my roommate didn't have similar inclinations until around 2:30. I really hate trying to sleep when there's still activity going on in the room--mostly because I'm nearly always unsuccessful. I don't know what it is; ever since I was a little kid I've been most comfortable when I'm the last person to go to sleep. Whenever I complain about my roommate's late hours, she points out that I'm a night owl too--which is true--but often when I go to bed after her, it's because I've been sitting around fiddling with the computer or whatever, just waiting for her to go to bed.

So I woke up at nearly 11 in a foul mood, having lost the morning struggle with my alarm clock and missed breakfast. I burnt my toast, then found that people had stolen yet more of my butter. Food theft has really escalated in the last month or so, it's really frustrating.

I've been stressing over this whole packing/getting home thing as well. I went into the University Travel office today, and as always, came out swearing I'd never go to them for advice again. Fortunately, everything perked up after lunch, when I talked to Jen on MSN and got everything sorted out, travel-wise. She's so amazing, she's putting me up for the night in Glasgow so I don't have to get an early morning taxi, and even said she'd drive me to the airport in the morning!

I still haven't figured out a job for the summer, though. I suppose I'll have to just apply to places when I get home. I think places are slightly sceptical of me because even at my age, I've never had a real job before--I'm 19 now, but not according to this quiz. )

I should probably go do something useful now.

Latest addictions: salt & vinegar flavoured crunchy sticks, http://www.pandora.com/
mhuzzell: (Default)
Wow. Carole King is a great singer and all, but some of her lyrics are a bit, erm, infantile. I mean, come on, "snow is cold, rain is wet"...how observant, how descriptive, how poetic. That toad line in 'Tapestry' always throws me, too. It just seems so...discordant? unharmonious? Just incongruous with the soft, open-mouthed sounds of the rest of the song.
mhuzzell: (Default)
Today was a St Andrews Uni day if ever there was one. I got up before dawn to go jump in the North Sea at first light, then went to a Polo tournament in the afternoon.

The May Dip )

The Polo Tournament )

So tonight has been an evening of relaxation and napping. Debbie, Hannah, Dave and I watched 'Trainspotting' and 'The Incredibles'. Now I should go to sleep, as I've gotten far too little in any of the last five days or so. It's been an eventful weekend. Saturday we went to a Medaeival fair at the Castle, then to a Garden Party in Hall, followed by fireworks in the evening. There was also a dance-type thing between the Garden Party and the fireworks, but I slept right through it. The fireworks were amazing, though. I've never seen a display like that when it wasn't some sort of public holiday, or the state fair. Sunday I went to Meeting, then a few hours recovery nap, then a barbeque on the West Sands with my Academic Family, followed by again staying up far too late.

And on a final note, Sufjan Stevens is amazing. I copied a random CD off of Lorry last year, and it wasn't all that great; only one or two songs grabbed my interest. I'm not sure what album that was--I think it might be a mix of stuff. But a few months ago I downloaded his album 'Illinois' off a fellow pirate student, and oh my stars, it is amazing. I like it more every time I listen to it, and I seem to get something different out of the songs each time, too. Wow.

P.S. Happy Birthday, Melissa and Sara H! Melissa, I'm sorry my phone cut out; it is a crappy phone :-/
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