-- There are cygnets in the pond this year! And Hans Christian Andersen was quite wrong about them: they are not in the least ugly. They are very cute, little grey-white balls of fluff.
-- Pink wine-in-a-box is even worse than white wine-in-a-box. (I think it may border on undrinkable, even by my own very-not-picky wine standards. Thank goodness for the mead and ale tasting tonight, and for various publishers' receptions, and the study-abroad-in-Glasgow people handing out samples of Scotch.)
-- So, apparently I caused an edited collection to happen, without actually meaning to do anything of the sort. Discovering that sort of thing makes one feel oddly powerful.
-- I finally made it to the Friday evening how-to-use-an-astrolabe session, only to discover that I really, really do not have the sort of mind that can understand astrolabes. But now I have a pretty souvenir cardboard astrolabe! I am not sure whether to hang it on my nonexistent Christmas tree, or name my nonexistent kid after it, or what.
-- Why does the medievalist conference always feature a singalong of '60s songs? I do not know. But apparently, one of the aftereffects of having gone to a hippie preschool is that I can't resist that sort of thing, even though my singing voice is, um, best drowned out by other people.
... Oh yeah, there were some papers. One of them was even mine.
-- Pink wine-in-a-box is even worse than white wine-in-a-box. (I think it may border on undrinkable, even by my own very-not-picky wine standards. Thank goodness for the mead and ale tasting tonight, and for various publishers' receptions, and the study-abroad-in-Glasgow people handing out samples of Scotch.)
-- So, apparently I caused an edited collection to happen, without actually meaning to do anything of the sort. Discovering that sort of thing makes one feel oddly powerful.
-- I finally made it to the Friday evening how-to-use-an-astrolabe session, only to discover that I really, really do not have the sort of mind that can understand astrolabes. But now I have a pretty souvenir cardboard astrolabe! I am not sure whether to hang it on my nonexistent Christmas tree, or name my nonexistent kid after it, or what.
-- Why does the medievalist conference always feature a singalong of '60s songs? I do not know. But apparently, one of the aftereffects of having gone to a hippie preschool is that I can't resist that sort of thing, even though my singing voice is, um, best drowned out by other people.
... Oh yeah, there were some papers. One of them was even mine.
