Nov. 21st, 2008 10:47 am
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (Default)
God I pick the worst time to wibble.

Have to go to work in ten minutes. My absolute saint of a mother will be arriving around lunchtime and cleaning out my room. The plan is to be ready to go by time time I finish work at six.

I never did get a photo of the jacaranda in full bloom outside my window. Every year, I only remember as I'm leaving, and the flowers are already wilting.

I probably should turn off my Narnia playlist, it's really quite depressing.
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (shock!)
Those who know [livejournal.com profile] kayloulee  will have already seen this on your flists, but here we go again:

K: I am of the belief that caramel is of the devil. I believe that if there is ever proven to be a devil, that he (or it, I suppose it'd be it) would be made of caramel, and swim in caramel.

Whereupon says I, taking a large and suggestive bite of my Snickers bar: I would be willing to perform upon a caramel devil a good many of the acts described in the Malleus Maleficarum and quite a few acts which are not.

*K dies of laughter*


Me: I don't care what shape he is, but if he's as cold as the devil is supposed to be in early witchhunting literature, then that wouldn't be good, because cold caramel just breaks your teeth.

K: But the devil would not be made of Werthers Original or Fantales, because I like those.

Me: I don't like Werthers or Fantales, could I please have a Caramello devil.

K: A devil koala!

Me: I'm not going to get into chocolate devilish bestiality!

K: But it's a candy, not a creature!
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (One Way)
So I'm sitting here calmly writing my thesis, and down the hallway comes first a man's voice, and then a lovely and usually unflappable acquaintance of mine, whom we shall call A.

Says A: What do you do when you're interrupted at one am by a nudy run?
Two male shapes then appear, and proceed into the college library.
Says I: Why are they in the library?
A: They think their clothes are in there.
Me: Are they?
A: I don't know.

Two naked men emerge holding, respectively, shoes and boxers over their private parts. They sit down at my table and make themselves at home.

Says I: How did you get in?
Naked Man One: Someone let us in!
A: Where's the person who let you in now?
Naked Man Two: Oh, she ran off.

At this point, another acquaintance emerges, and A asks her what to do. I suggest calling the RA. Person B suggests calling the principal. Much debate is had, no information can be extracted from the naked men, who do not even know the name of the person who, it turns out, nicked their clothes and ran off.

Says B: Who does that?
Says A: Sounds like fairly standard college girl behaviour to me.

At this point, A orders 'those who have underpants to put them on', and vanishes upstairs to get spare boxer shorts. BOTH naked men now stand up and don their underpants, Naked Man One having produced hitherto unseen undies from his shoes.

Now decently clad, the naked men request permission to eat my camembert cheese, which I give to them, because what can you do when you are having a chat with two strange mostly-naked man at one in the morning? However, they do not eat the cheese, but rather drink about a litre of water from the water tank, and ask me what I'm doing up.

Says I: I have a thesis due. Accordingly, I am up working on it.
Says Naked Man Two: Accordingly. You're using too many linking words.
Me: It's a side effect of writing a thesis. You start wanting to connect your sentences properly.

The Naked Men have  another cup of water each. A and B re-appear with boxer shorts which are now unnecessary. A disappears again, and B leans against the wall and has a chat to me about theses, and the bizarrity of naked men. A reappears with C, the RA on duty, who has just been woken up.

Says I: Oh, hi C!
Says A, to the Naked Men, of B, C and I: These three are all writing theses. I was just doing my tax return.
Me: Well, it's not every day you get interrupted by naked man.
Says B: No, happens all the time for A!
A: It doesn't happen often. Sometimes you wish it would...

Says A, to the Naked Men: Do you two have names?
Naked Man One: Oh, yes!
Says A: What are they?
Naked Man One gives his name, and then, after prompting,  Naked Man Two's name.

Says B: There's really nothing much we can do for you. And by nothing much I mean nothing at all.
Says A: We can take your numbers and put a message around tomorrow about your missing clothes.
Says B: Hey, Highly, do you remember in O-Week, that girl who tricked the guy into the bathroom on the cruise and stripped him naked and threw his clothes into the harbour?
Says I: I do, she won the Spade for that night. She's not still here, is she?
Says B: I don't remember who it was...
Says I: I don't think she is. So we don't have a serial clothes thief.  I think it's more of a communal trait.

Says C: Are you boys from college?
Says Naked Boy One: No!
Says C: Where are you from, then?
Naked Boy Two: Cronulla!
A: How were you planning to get home?
One: Cab. Stay at a girl's house. Something.
A: You still have a wallet in your shoe, don't you?
One: Yes.
A: Well, you're going to have to get a cab home.
One: We can't get a cab dressed like this.
A: You can... Oh.
B: We can order them a taxi.
Two: You can DO that?
B: I will go and order you a taxi.
C: How about we all move out to the foyer, except Amy?

It then took about three minutes for the naked boys to get up, have another drink, and be cajoled into following the others out to the foyer.

Ah, college, how I will miss thee.

highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (shock!)
So K and my Wife endured a double round of college fire alarms this morning. The Wife sent me an email saying 'be glad you weren't here'. Except that clearly I cannot be spared the joy, because the hostel fire alarms went off at one am this morning. SIGH.

However, due to the fact that they close the common room at 11pm, I actually got more sleep last night than I've had in one go for about a week.

another update on my conference-going over on my medieval blog. I HAVE A COPY OF THE NEW BLUE BOOK. I will love it and cuddle it and call it Hnæf.
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (shock!)
Wife: Why is it that we're a group of highly educated women, and yet whenever I"m here, the conversation is always about sex?
Economist: Nono, you should've been here this morning. We were talking about, like, newspaper stuff!
Engineer: We had a long conversation about the credit crunch.
LawTwit: And how it's people's fault! They should have, like, stopped buying things and had more sex to occupy themselves.

Moral of the day: Have more sex, save the economy.
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (One Way)
This entertaining conversation between myself, my boss the Elegant Dutchwoman and the head Chef, henceforth known as Mad Scotswoman.

Highly looks up from reception computer and greets a waiting Student, just as the phone rings.

Highly: Just a moment, while I answer this. Hello, Obvious College Reception, this is Highly Speaking, how may I help you?
Phone, with a crackle for mobile transmission: Hello, Highly, this is Elegant Dutchwoman, calling for Mad Scotswoman. *sounds of students clattering around dining hall* There's quite a few boys here, have you sold any meal tickets?
Highly: Yes, one.
Elegant Dutchwoman, to Mad Scotswoman: Just one.
Mad Scotswoman: Who was it?
Elegant Dutchwoman: Who was it?
Highly: It was Generic Pymble Number Fifty-Five.
Elegant Dutchwoman: It was Generic Pymble Number Fifty-Five.
Mad Scotswoman: Ah, GPN55. *more clattering and banging*
Elegant Dutchwoman: Who else was there?
Highly: No one.
Mad Scotswoman: Well, there's Generic Pymble Number Seventy-Four.
Elegant Dutchwoman: GPN74. Write that down.
Highly writes down GPN74.
Mad Scotswoman: And I there's Generic Pymble Number One Hundred and Nine. Is that GPN109?
Elegant Dutchwoman: Yes, that's GPN109, write that down, Highly.
Highly writes that down.
Elegant Dutchwoman: There was someone else, who was it?
Mad Scotswoman, very reluctantly: Noo... well... there was [livejournal.com profile] kayloulee... with Highly's boyfriend.
Highly: He's not my boyfriend anymore!
Elegant Dutchwoman: He's not her boyfriend anymore.
Mad Scotswoman: He's not her boyfriend anymore?
Highly: He's not my boyfriend anymore, and he often comes to lunch with K without eating anything.
Elegant Dutchwoman: He's not her boyfriend anymore and he often comes to lunch without eating anything.
Mad Scotswoman: Oh.
Elegant Dutchwoman: Write those down!
Highly stares at the things she's already written down, and decides that's enough. Phone hangs up.

Waiting Student: I take it he's not your boyfriend anymore?
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (Default)
Just because it's not Confucian, doesn't mean it's WEIRD. (It means it's interesting.)
highlyeccentric: Sheer Geekiness, unfortunately - I just think this stuff is really cool (phd comics) (Sheer Geekiness)
There are several new and exciting aspects to research which my little modern project has suddenly made available to me. Like primary documents, within arm's reach! The knowledge that there are lots of sources, both easy and difficult to access, if I only look in the right places. There will be dead ends, but... *glees*

For example, this afternoon I walked down the corridor and looked at the official college photos. Evelyn 'Dick' Dickson does not appear once in said photos, in the twenty odd years she lived here. I wouldn't expect her in the years she was only Louisa's guest, but when the Council insisted she enrol in University (who paid her fees, I wonder??), it seems she did not become a student of Women's College. (I'll have to check the Roll, though. See above point about LOTS OF SOURCES), and nor does she appear in photographs in the years she was Honorary Physician. (The latter doesn't seem to be odd- at that early stage no tutors or staff appear in the photographs aside from Louisa.)

Louisa's sister-in-law appears in one photograph as Principal, in one of the years in which Louisa was overseas visiting the aging Eleanor Grove. On some occaisions Evelyn acted as Principal in Louisa's stead (she normally acted as Louisa's secretary), but interestingly, no photographs feature Evelyn as stand-in Principal.

Maybe the year in question was the only year in which Louisa's absence was long enough to warrant a stand-in in a photo. Maybe the photo was taken for press purposes.

There are a lot of gaps in the early photo wall, however... I wonder what factors meant they took no photos?
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (purple)
I'm going to start doing a bit of research now... for 'fun'... and I spoke to the Vice-Principal, and once my thesis is out of the way, I'm going to start some serious research into Louisa MacDonald and her lesbian partner. I'll have to get permission from the Principal to access the archives, and talk to her biographer, and read some Queer Theory, and all kinds of strange stuff.

Nevertheless, I'm going to try to produce an academic paper on Louisa MacDonald- 19th Century Australia's best paid lesbian.
Because, y'know, I'm not going crazy enough as it is. And because a medieval philologist is obviously the best person to do modern australian queer/feminist history.

It's just that I'd rather we mistake a courageous straight woman for a courageous lesbian than not talk about it at all, for fear of her (our) 'reputation'. It doesn't much matter if they were in a sexual relationship or not- clearly, Louisa knew she wanted this woman with her for the rest of her life, and she was in the unique social and economic position to say 'come with me'. And she had the courage to do so, despite knowing that 'Dick' would cause trouble and raise eyebrows wherever they went...

I can't just let that pass. Could you?


May. 28th, 2008 01:27 pm
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (purple)

I start training as a receptionist at college sometime soon. I get to work right through the winter break five days a week, and I get to work second semester without giving up the Library. The library's not that exciting and it doesn't pay much, but I love it very much, so I am a Happy little Highly now.
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (Default)
I reformatted Sauron, but he still hiccups over opening internet pages. Maybe it's the university server. Hi-ho...

In other news, I went to hear the St Paul's College Choir tonight, which was lovely. Have you ever *really* listened to the words of Danny Boy? They're kinda creepy... The music master had arranged it with acapella accompaniment by the choir, and the whole effect was slightly spooky.

Speaking of choirs, this via Ardvarcaeology:

Aardvarchaeology explains:

I've posted a fine example of Ansiktsburk song lyrics before: listen to a song in a language you don't understand, and try to imagine that it is actually sung in your own language though with a funny accent. Then write down whatever words you can half make out. Thus the Swedish drinking song "Helan går" becomes "Hell and gore, shun hope Father Alan, lay!".

Now Paddy K directs my attention to a new permutation of this idea. Here's a piece of choral music sung in English in such a way that the real lyrics are difficult to make out -- and the ansiktsburk poet has set new English words to it. Look at the ladies toward the end -- their lips are actually synching with the nonsense!
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (purple)
So I decided to tidy up the Women's Collection and the Fiction Collection while I was in the library tonight. And I discovered that, holy St Catherine1, we have an absolutely brilliant collection of feminist literature. Now, this wouldn't normally be my idea of fun, but given the patchiness of our collection on all other matters, this is impressive. We have a book on women in science fiction (both characters and authors)! We have an extremely battered old copy of Our Bodies, Ourselves, a book I've heard about but never seen. I'd always assumed it was something in the generic line of Everywoman or Everygirl, the latter of which I grew up with and the former of which I considered to contain entirely too much about pregnancy and menopause and other icky grown up things. From looking at the contents, though, it's not just an early production in the same mould as those two, it's a really really good example of the genre and more people should have copies.3

Anyway, on a whim (feminist literature being as far removed from Wulfstanian law codes as you can possibly get), I borrowed out Naomi Wolf's The Beaty Myth. It's shitting me off- what's with theorists and not footnoting anything? She's telling me a fascinating story, but the only paper trails I could concievably chase up are the court cases! This annoyed me about Germaine Greer, the one time I tried to read her, and it annoys me about Geraldine Brooks too, and (to a certain extent) Richard Dawkins, when I tried reading him. These people like to weave stories about how shocking or fantastic something is and just never back up their historical content! For all I know, they could be interpreting their sources entirely wrong, but how am I supposed to trace it? How am I supposed to know if she's right that until the industrial revolution, women's work was complementary to men's in the family unit, and valued equally? How am I supposed to know if she's right that images of beauty only flooded the market in the nineteenth century? Why am I supposed to believe a theory based on history if the history is apparently unsourced? As far as I can tell, she's just *decided* that's the way the distant past was, although she seems to be better informed about the recent past. (Or perhaps I'm more poorly informed about my own century, and so more gullible?)!

Ahem. That wasn't supposed to be a rant. That was SUPPOSED to be a rave, along the lines of: this book is really, really interesting. It may not be all 'true', whatever true is in these matters, but it's certainly interesting.

Did you know that in 1977 a fellow called John Molloy, considering the problems which faced women in the workplace when it comes to dress (this segment follows a large passage on the problem of being expected to look 'feminine' without being sexually attractive or inviting sexual attraction), conducted some experiments. He got a cohort of women, and had them dress in a uniform fashion (as do men)- a skirt suit, with a pallete of colours, high heel shoes, makeup, some jewellery, but overall a sober appearance- and all wear them to work for a year. The control group, meanwhile, continued dressing fashionably for work. After a year, the women dressed in 'uniform' reported that their bosses attitudes toward them had improved, they were afforded more respect, and were twice as likely to be recommended for promotion.
Nevertheless, no one took up this recommendation. The New York Times Magazine decried him for requiring women to 'look like men' (what, exactly, about skirts, high heels and makeup looks like men?), and the findings- apparently based on extensive testing, which is rare enough in this sort of field- never really affected the way women thought about proffessional dress. Of course, it doesn't have much effect if one woman adopts a sober, relatively timeless outfit. That's not a uniform, it's a personal fashion choice. Wolf quotes Molloy: Without a uniform, there is no equality of image.
Think about it. For women, 'presentation' requires an entirely separate skill set to the one which qualifies you for the job, as well as the money that goes into maintaining hair, makeup, clothes, and so on. For men, presentation requires only the money to buy a good quality suit.

Amusingly, Molloy's 'uniform' suit is just what I asked my mother to buy me for my twenty-first- something sober, unlikely to go out of fashion, consisting of a skirt and jacket or skirt, pants and jacket, in a design which she (or someone else) can easily take in and out as my weight goes up and down and my shape changes every few months, as it does, and sensible, low-heeled shoes to wear with it. The shoes will have to be replaced every few years, but the rest of it ought to do me for interviews and work and conferences for at least five years. Ten'd be good.4


1. Patron saint of archivists, librarians, libraries, scholars, schoolchildren, philosophers, students and spinsters2, sadly struck from the canon in 1969. I am now swearing by St Catherine on all matters academic and book related.
2. All of which categories I have, am, or would like to belong to.
3. Somehow, in googling for those links, I discovered these two highlarious sites: Iron Hymen (for girls) and Sex Is For Fags (for boys). They afforded me some minutes of sarcastic amusement. And yet it all seems eerily familiar.
4. These things do last forever. I was wearing last year the suit jacket my mother wore to work before I was born. I'd be wearing it still if it hadn't gone mouldy in my wardrobe over summer. Must get it dry-cleaned. She offered to hunt me out the skirt that went with it, having given up hope of fitting back into it (and if she ever does, she damn well deserves a new skirt!). Maybe I should adopt that as my uniform, eighties shoulder pads and all.
! Oh, and [livejournal.com profile] goblinpaladin: she uses 'Byzantine' as some sort of insult to laws. Can't quite make out what she means. (Draconian? Impossibly complex? Sexist? Who knows?)
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (purple)
Y'know what? College is actually a pretty damn awesome place. And formal dinners lately have been pretty damn awesome.

Last week we had an intensely amusing woman whose name I've forgotten, but who was at an earlier stage in her career the only practicing sexologist in Sri Lanka and is now high up in the sexual health unit at Cumbo campus. In hindsight, she was weirdly conservative in places, or at least saying things which fuel conservative tropes about sex.1 But she was there, she was frank, and she was deliberately funny. The waves of giggling across the hall weren't exactly comfortable belly laughs, but, as the Pauls Boys present later remarked upon with astonishment, they were the nervous laughs of two hundred and fifty girls actually engaging with a sex talk. I dunno about you, but I think it's pretty awesome when the post-speaker question time means intelligent questions about orgasms and oxytocin and what have you bouncing back and forth across the formal dining hall.

This week we had Proffessor Ian someone-or-other, [livejournal.com profile] fahye's hero in life and the bigwig behind Beyond Blue, talking about youth mental illness and the problems with making information and assistance available. What was really awesome was standing around in the commmon room afterwards, drinking tea, in a group which fluctuated between five and twenty people, tossing around thoughts and experiences on stress, anxiety, depression and so on.

I realised as I was walking back up here- until tonight, I'd never met anyone who can say I had depression- with the exception of five or six people I knew through school who had depression until they had a spectacular conversion moment.2
I guess a lot of people who have had depression don't go around telling everyone. Might it make a difference if they did? Might it be easier to convince friends to seek help if more happy, vibrant people were out there saying "I got help, it worked!" Might it be easier to seek help oneself? Might it go a long way to counter the 'counselling is for REALLY CRAZY PEOPLE' mentality, and the 'I'm not sure how helpful it really is to keep rehashing things in shrink's offices' mentality that people of my mother's generation are still passing on to their (nearly-grown) kids?

Conclusion: College is a pretty awesome place.


1. Masking tape analogy, anyone? Once you've had that one shouted at you by a prancing representative of the True Love Waits Society, you start to become very suspicious of anyone using keywords like that.
2. If it works, far be it from me to decry it. However, in the case of one formerly close friend, all that changed was that she no longer thought she had depression, and as well as demonstrating all the symptoms she had before, she became a sanctimonious so-and-so into the equation, so you'll forgive me for a little skepticism.


Apr. 14th, 2008 07:44 pm
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (One Way)

At college formal dinner tonight, I discovered that one of my new postgrad friends has recently been awarded the Queensland Fulbright Scholarship to study in the States next semester. She suggested that, in my process of Applying-For-Everything-Under-The-Sun over the next nine months or so, I ought to have a stab at a Fulbright, and a) offered to help me with applications and b) told me that the College’s Honorary Librarian, whom I conveniently know through working for the college library, is on NSW Fulbright committee or panel or whoever they are.

Since I do honestly intend to apply for everything under the sun, and I hadn’t thought about US study before, I’m asking for suggestions. If I wanted to do a one-year Masters program in either Anglo-Saxon studies or interdisciplinary Medieval Studies, where should I apply?
Furthermore- are international students able to take student loans in the States? (Obviously I’d try to secure further funding to cover fees, but it’s worth finding these things out…)

And does anyone know of a way to sell Medieval Studies as relevant and useful and liable to enrich relations between the US and Australia?



highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (purple)
Today, I have had a childish day. I had a ticklewar; I ended up under the table at an official function; and I played peek-a-boo.

I had the ticklewar with [personal profile] kayloulee and chased her down the corridor, which was one of those fabulously silly moments when you remember how good it us to have FUN. Although, possibly, since it ended with her shutting her head in the door, things were not so much fun on her end.

Then I went out tonight, to a book launch for the Venerable Emeritus' latest work, at which I had a nice time talking to nice people, and discovered that the Bocera owns a photocopy of the Missing Edition I spent today hunting for. I promised to worship at his feet.
When the room was starting to thin out, the Venerable Emeritus' daughter came past to say farewell to him, and she was also looking for her daughter- the son being overtired and ready for bed. I turned around and there was an exquisite elf of a child, in a too-big uniform, twirling her plaits and announcing I was under the table.
I picked my way over to her and dropped down and asked if she was the Venerable Emeritus' granddaughter. She twinkled at me, and told me that she was. She told me all about how she had been picked up from school and gone straight to grandpa's house; she told me that she was in kindergarten, and, when I told her that her brother had been yelling for her when grandma brought him to uni the other day, she twinkled smugly up at me. What was she doing under the table? Eating all the ice, of course.
I'm going under there again, she declared, and held up the tablecloth of the makeshift bar. What else could I do but join her? She showed me all the ice, and while I sat and chewed, she sat and twinkled, and miscelaneos old people lifted the tablecloth up to see what on earth was going on.
Eventually she was dragged out and slung over a parental shoulder, leaving me to realise that I, a respectable honours student, was hiding under the table at an official function.

Some people, when they see children, have a sudden surge of maternal instinct, and want to look after them and cuddle them and do whatever else it is you do when you're being maternal. I, meanwhile, lose all sense of my own age. Who knows what my twinkly friend thought. Was I a Weird Lady? Or perhaps one of those kids-in-adult-bodies, as you always think of your cousins?

The game of peek-a-boo was just now, under the Wife's Fluffy Pink Blanket Of Happiness and Joy, while having a Serious Conversation about art and literature and one's place in the universe.

Also, since I have been feeling small in many respects, as well as childish in the best respects, these were the most fabulous thing I have found lately: Thiel's Psalms for Small People.
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (Default)
Actually, a story about a lovely lady who is not a nun, and the rather awesome thing she was able to do, with the aid of a group of nuns. Her name is Mary Assunta, she was a resident of Women's College for six years- so she's been around the whole time that I've been here- and she's just finished her PHD and is working for the Australian Cancer Council, involved in tobacco control in the asia-pacific. A few years ago she recieved the prestigious Luther Terry Award.

One of the exploits which put her on the map of global anti-tobacco advocacy was getting up, in the middle of the 1998 stockholders meeting of Phillip Morris International- before six hundred immediate spectators and live global video feeds- to ask the amusingly-named CEO, Bible, why so much tobacco marketing in Malaysia was being aimed at minors.

And how did a Malaysian anti-tobacco campaigner come to be in the stockholder's meeting for Phillip Morris? Ah, well, here's where the nuns come in...
There's a lovely little community of nuns, somewhere in the US, whose convent owns a nice chunk of Phillip Morris shares, and has done for the last hundred years or so. Having decided that actually, the tobacco industry is a nasty thing, did they sell their stocks? No, they did not. Instead, they hung onto them, and routinely nominate anti-tobacco campaigners as their proxies to stockholder meetings. Mary was the first international anti-tobacco advocate they had ever sent.

Isn't that cool?

Aaand... coming up, as a special present to those on my flist: tales of guerilla advocacy.
highlyeccentric: Steamed broccoli - an image of an angry broccoli floret (steamed)
It's been three years, six St Pauls College nudie runs, assorted asshats banging on doors at weird hours, two intrusions and one lurking streaker, one puddle of vomit trodden in by accident, numerous drunken idiots yelling idiotically, but i'm not easily intimidated. In first year, the security guard had to *remind* me to shut my door because there were drunk guys on the loose.

I've never, ever, seen fit to wake up the RA and get the security guard's number.

But then, I've never had a small posse of men standing outside my door chanting
it is not like you, Bilbo, to keep friends waiting on the mat, and then open the door like a pop gun.
Which has to be the WEIRDEST intimidation tactic ever, even granting that they were reading off the picture on my door. But still.


Nov. 28th, 2007 08:59 pm
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (Default)
[livejournal.com profile] phrasemuffin wins. He wins so hard.

Today he presented me with the bestest birthday present ever. I'm someone who takes great glee in putting together idiosyncratic and perfectly targeted presents for people, but I am rarely the recipient of such things. And Random David just took the cake for effort and obscurity.

He presented me with:

An XKCD shirt

and a pinboard. Yes, a pinboard. Said pinboard had pinned to it a small stuffed Puss In Boots, and five cards. Said cards had inscribed on them LOLCAT references! "I can has cheeseburger". "My innocent eyes, let me show you them."

He assures me that he can never regard XKCD or LOLCats or Beowulf references without thinking of me. The first and third I understand; the presence of the second in the list induces some dismay in me. It seems that, as well as [livejournal.com profile] kayloulee being Fresher Highly, a year in her company has seen me morph into Senior Kayloulee. I had barely seen a LOLCat before I visited her room... And I dubbed her Mrs Figg for her propensity to subject visitors to photographs of cats.
Beware, [livejournal.com profile] kayloulee. I am absorbing your identity.

P.S: [livejournal.com profile] goblinpaladin is reading me Beowulf. EEE!
highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (shock!)
AmyB just uploaded this photo to facebook... i'm going to beg the original from her and de-red-eye it and stuff. But for now, it was too awesome not to share.

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

*Grins widely*

only problem is that the discovery of said photo has made my missing-[livejournal.com profile] goblinpaladin reaction kick in 24 hours earlier than I'd expected it.


highlyeccentric: Sign on Little Queen St - One Way both directions (Default)

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