elanya

Some thing that I forgot to mention the other day that was odd... I think it was Thursday, but it could have been Wednesdy. I don't remember. Last week is kind of blurred.

First of all, I saw Mr. K at work 9K for Kennedy, my highschool music teacher). He was walking by the window and just came in to see me, and see what I was up to. I made my life sond better than muffin wenching by telling him that I was done my MA and moving to Ontario to be an archaeologist. Which is acually true, so go me.

Later that day, I went to the mall with Hazel, and I saw another music person who I hadn't seen in ages (Siobahn. As an aside, wh
en trying to remember her last name, I thought for a minute that it was Harmond, before I remember that was an EIS name. But her name *does* start with an H, at least ;). She wants me to hep her in a Christmas concert, so I said I would do what I could, and now I have a rehersal at 3:30 to go to. I'm going to do some Bogganing now and then walk, or cab, or something. maybe go uptown at some point because I need some wax for my chocolates, arrr.

Eh, bugger if I can remember.

I finished reading A Storm of Swords last night/early this morning. Hazel is being pissy at me and won't let me say *anything*. Not even so much as "Damnit, so and so is an asshole!", for example. I think she is bitter because I finished before she did ;p I can't help it... I may start out trying to read a book or series slowly, but once I get into it, I can't stop. I get addicted to stories. Stories are like crack. And now I can't rants about this one even a little bit :( Unless I see Julie online, I suppoe.

The book thing made me remember. Jodie (a.k.a. freakwoman) game me presents last night: Two pirate-y books! Yaay! One of them looks absoluetly awesome. It is by
George Macdonald Fraser and is called simply The Pyrates. It is like... a satirical book about adventure books and pirate myths and eighteenth century culture. hilariously tongue in cheek, even from the could of pages I flipped through during ViS.



For now the scene shifts abruptly, to grim For St Bartlemy, lonely outpost of England in the far Caribbean, where at the watergate of the great rockbound castle, bronzed and bare-backed seamen sweated in the hunid tropic night as they carried massive iron-studded chsets up from the boat at the sea-steps, and along the arched, stone-flagged tunnel to the strong room deep in the heart of that impregnable place. Guttering torches lit the scene as sailors grunted and heaved and chewed quids of plug tobacco and spat and swore rich sea-oaths as they laboured, for every tarry-handed mother's son of them had learned his trade in the Jeffrey Farnol School of Historical Dialect, and could growl 'Belike' and 'Look'ee' and 'Ha - cheerly messmates all!' in that authentic Mummerset growl which would one day keep Robert Newton in gainful employment. So with hearty heave-ho-ing and avasting they worked, under the stern blue eye of their grizzled commander, a weather-beaten salt of suitably bluff appearance with a blue coat and brass-mounted telescope, who may well have been called hawkins of Bransome, but not conceivably Vavasour d'Umfraville.
"Aaargh!" cried the burly captain, twice for emphasis. "Aaargh! Easy, handsomely, I say, wi' they chests, rot 'ee! 'Tis ten thousands pound you'm carryin', ye lubbers!" This was his normal habit of speech, since anything else would have been incomprehensible to his crew. "A pesky parlous cargo it be, an' all, an' glad I am to be rid on't, burn me for a backstay else."

Yeah, it rules muchly, anyway, and I partly finished the last book so that I could opursue this more portable one :D And now I must boggan! Boggan like there is no tomorrow! There may not be. You never know.

There was something else too, what was it....