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Feb. 27th, 2002 10:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
quislibetI caught twenty minutes of a documentary on quarrying marble for the Parthenon this morning and, while it was not in and of itself particularly gripping, it has filled me with Athenian nostalgia. I want to go back some day in the near-ish future.
I bet my favorite Greek coffee milk will no longer exist, however, as the world is a cruel place.
So in a weird turn of events a distinguished scholar, an associate dean and senior lecturer at a major European university, has volunteered to present my paper for me at a conference I'd decided I'm too poor to attend. When I withdrew from the conference I offered to send the paper anyway, because it was written and because I didn't want to leave a hole in the program if they didn't have anything else to put there, but really by presenting it they'd be doing me a massive favor so I didn't expect them to take me up on it (and neither did my advisor).
But lo: six weeks later they've asked me to send it and are thanking me for my kindness. Soeverybody wins, and I can even still put the thing on my CV, yay, but it's a little daunting to send it off to this guy.
Addendum a few minutes later: How the hell do people's mothers in old ballads know how red the blood of her son's mare or dog or whatever might be? "It was never that red," she keeps saying, ultimately forcing him to confess to killing a sibling. That just doesn't make any sense, unless he spilled a little at a time, leaving the animal alive, habitually.
I bet my favorite Greek coffee milk will no longer exist, however, as the world is a cruel place.
So in a weird turn of events a distinguished scholar, an associate dean and senior lecturer at a major European university, has volunteered to present my paper for me at a conference I'd decided I'm too poor to attend. When I withdrew from the conference I offered to send the paper anyway, because it was written and because I didn't want to leave a hole in the program if they didn't have anything else to put there, but really by presenting it they'd be doing me a massive favor so I didn't expect them to take me up on it (and neither did my advisor).
But lo: six weeks later they've asked me to send it and are thanking me for my kindness. Soeverybody wins, and I can even still put the thing on my CV, yay, but it's a little daunting to send it off to this guy.
Addendum a few minutes later: How the hell do people's mothers in old ballads know how red the blood of her son's mare or dog or whatever might be? "It was never that red," she keeps saying, ultimately forcing him to confess to killing a sibling. That just doesn't make any sense, unless he spilled a little at a time, leaving the animal alive, habitually.
