tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60260082011-06-08T00:06:36.960-05:00The inane babble of two languishing lassies...Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comBlogger1301100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1118760260051370242005-06-14T09:44:00.000-05:002005-06-14T09:44:20.056-05:00

And...scene.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1117814635555103832005-06-03T11:02:00.000-05:002005-06-03T11:03:55.560-05:00

You are a SEDL--Sober Emotional Destructive Leader. This makes you a Dictator.You prefer to control situations, and lack of control makes you physically sick. You feel have responsibility for everyone's welfare, and that you will be blamed when things go wrong. Things do go wrong, and you take it harder than you should.You rely on the validation and support of others, but you have a secret

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1117114839549621972005-05-26T08:39:00.000-05:002005-05-26T08:40:39.553-05:00

You never know what form the next blow is going to take, but you always know it's coming.I feel so thwarted.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1117044957826451262005-05-25T13:15:00.000-05:002005-05-25T13:16:02.296-05:00

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1116432475679126972005-05-18T10:56:00.000-05:002005-05-18T11:11:31.830-05:00

There are some things which can never be explained to most of the human race, but that nevertheless leave one feeling rather jarred, as though the universe had momentarily flashed in and out of existence.Went dancing last night. Who dares to say that the human race is evolving? We're just the same as we ever were. Think about every civilization that ever was, and think what they did, and what

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1116338808060514102005-05-17T09:06:00.000-05:002005-05-17T09:06:48.070-05:00

"I think we've had enough of that feeble joke."

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1116262271993279862005-05-16T11:39:00.000-05:002005-05-16T11:51:11.996-05:00

"Rowan" is a good word, still, after all this time.And if I want to study ancient Greek, who's to prevent me? Stop with the naysaying-stop it, I say!Home agin (although, when my bus turned on to Wisconsin Ave. this morning, the first thought that went through my mind was "home agin." I love my downtown.) The gramps and the gran are here for Imoth's confirmation, and today is Mr. Joseph's

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1115142299112337472005-05-03T12:34:00.000-05:002005-05-03T12:44:59.113-05:00

Last night I saw an incredible group of young actors do their thing. It made me miss theatre. Afterwords, I talked to some of them and missed it less. I love them all dearly and wish them well, but if I never spoke to any of them again I would be perfectly content. I'm done with compromising the things I admire and hold dear.The weather is unfriendly, and my roommates never leave the room,

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1114807639103271772005-04-29T15:29:00.000-05:002005-05-02T13:33:15.630-05:00

Howdy, y'all.I think when I am in Scotland, I'm going to chaw tobacco and wear a cowboy hat and speak in the most inarticulate drawl possible, just to flout my American heritage. I have been asked by mein bruder et carrissimo amico to post this gem about one of his personal heroes:Duncan StroikProf. Stroik's teaching, research, and practice grows out of a commitment to the principles of

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1113417322056679142005-04-13T13:33:00.000-05:002005-04-13T14:00:46.473-05:00

Your Inner European is Irish!Sprited and boisterous!You drink everyone under the table.Who's Your Inner European?You Are 35% Normal(Occasionally Normal)You sure do march to your own beat...But you're so weird, people wonder if it's a beat at allYou think on a totally different wavelengthAnd it's often a chore to get people to understand youHow Normal Are You?

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1112848207735234222005-04-06T23:29:00.000-05:002005-04-06T23:30:07.736-05:00

“Really, if you don’t like T.S. Eliot, she hardly considers you human,” said Joyce. She and R.T. sat on a picnic table in the quad, swathed in winter coats and scarves. R.T. also wore a candy-striped ski hat. She chewed a knuckle thoughtfully.“You like him, though,” she replied.“What I’ve read,” conceded Joyce. “But that’s not much. I’ve never even read The Wasteland straight through. And I

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1112723035134230482005-04-05T12:38:00.000-05:002005-04-05T12:43:55.136-05:00

A day for reading G.B. Shaw, eating brown mustard, speaking in as many bizarre dialects as possible, and thumbing my nose at the whole ruddy world.Blogging has been non-existent from this front...trying to catch up is an exercise in futility...so here are some Scottish jokes.What do you call five hundred Englishmen falling off a cliff?A good start.How do you keep an Englishman from drowning?Take

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1110913644827435602005-03-15T13:06:00.000-06:002005-03-15T13:09:54.273-06:00

"I have only two things to say to you, Lord Tilbury. One is that you have ruined a man's life. The other is Pip-pip."

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1110579616710802222005-03-11T16:19:00.000-06:002005-03-11T16:20:16.713-06:00

You are 'regularly metric verse'. This can takemany forms, including heroic couplets, blankverse, and other iambic pentameters, forexample. It has not been used much since thenineteenth century; modern poets tend to preferrhyme without meter, or even poetry withneither rhyme nor meter.You appreciate the beautiful things in life--thejoy of music, the color of leaves falling, therhythm of a

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1110568434077650742005-03-11T12:59:00.000-06:002005-03-11T14:43:15.676-06:00

Well, eventually PP will get around to posting. In the meanwhile, another weekend is upon us. I foresee that it will involve jamming a-plenty, thanks to Russell Craze and his group of Celtic musicians, who have suddenly crawled out of the MU woodwork. Does anyone have a name to suggest for a band with fiddle, harp, bodhran, mandolin, guitar, and bass, playing both J. Scott Skinner and "The

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1110224090412983122005-03-07T13:26:00.000-06:002005-03-07T13:34:50.413-06:00

This weekend kind of defies description.I think I'll punt to Ping Pong, who owes us all a post or two anyway.Suffice it to say...No, there really is not much that will suffice.Slip slidin' awaySlip slidin' awayYou know the nearer your destinationThe more you're slip slidin' away...--Paul Simon

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1109624427920126772005-02-28T14:22:00.000-06:002005-02-28T15:00:27.923-06:00

I didn't do a mite of homework this weekend, which I am sure will come back to haunt me later. However, there are things more important. At times, for example, friends are more important than education. Similarly, sometimes doughnuts and mist-laden night air are more important than sleep. Marquette, though at times a hell-hole, has some lovely people tucked away. Somehow I've managed to find

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1109273807198772982005-02-24T13:28:00.000-06:002005-02-24T13:36:47.200-06:00

Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire,et quod uides perisse perditum ducas.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1109009216589010892005-02-21T12:06:00.000-06:002005-02-21T12:06:56.590-06:00

Try not to flick me off, Ping Pong dear.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1108563786000902232005-02-16T08:21:00.000-06:002005-02-16T08:23:06.003-06:00

Sigh no more ladies, sigh no more,Men were deceivers ever,One foot in sea and one on shore,To one thing constant never.Then sigh not so, but let them go,And be you blithe and bonny,Converting all your sounds of woeInto hey nonny, nonny, nonny.Sing no more ditties, sing no moreOf things so dull and heavy,The fraud of men was ever so,Since summer first was leafy.Then sigh not so, but let them go,

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1107978669237404922005-02-09T13:34:00.000-06:002005-02-09T13:51:09.236-06:00

A delightful Ash Wednesday to all. The time has come to bid farewell to puddings, at least for a bit. Advice to all: If you're feeling disheartened, talk to Jack Straw. And throw some cake, either at yourself as you write novels, or at the JB performers, who will dance and sing around it enthusiastically. I prefer men to cabbages. Actually, at the moment, I prefer sleep to both. Cottleston

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1107807198112437732005-02-07T13:59:00.000-06:002005-02-07T14:13:18.113-06:00

I distrust this false spring. It's unnatural-- like a disease. But then, February is rather unpleasant no matter how it plays itself out. An irritating month, all in all. The other day, I read the most heart-breaking thing ever written in English: "A Free Man's Worship" by Bertrand Russell. It seems so tragic and yet so heroic to believe that there is no God and that the universe is

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1107371184604812002005-02-02T13:59:00.000-06:002005-02-02T13:24:27.886-06:00

The Collar I struck the board, and cry’d, No more; I will abroad. What? shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free; free as the road, Loose as the winde, as large as store. Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me bleed, and not restore What I have lost with cordiall fruit?

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1107281638053604702005-02-01T13:01:00.000-06:002005-02-01T12:13:58.053-06:00

Things I'm not too fond of: * people who interpret everything as allegory * textbooks (some because they weigh 78 lbs, some because they're lost, some because they exist at all) * references to Mary as a "magical female fertility goddess" * lukewarm showers * the latin verb "adire" * fake plants * the phrase "it's all good" * data entry * my current state of mind

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1107200668088592662005-01-31T13:43:00.000-06:002005-01-31T13:44:28.086-06:00

#405 It might be lonelier Without the Loneliness -- I'm so accustomed to my Fate -- Perhaps the Other -- Peace -- Would interrupt the Dark -- And crowd the little Room -- Too scant -- by Cubits -- to contain The Sacrament -- of Him -- I am not used to Hope -- It might intrude upon -- Its sweet parade -- blaspheme the place -- Ordained to Suffering -- It might be easier To fail -- with Land in

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1106943957884082892005-01-28T14:12:00.000-06:002005-01-28T14:31:47.596-06:00

Wow, hurray for us and our regular posting. I was correct: none of my professors are Twetten. Curses. I am, in fact, feeling slightly despondent, a word which here means "weary of staring at a computer screen, brain-dead, and somewhat feverish." (Sorry, Imoth. i realize I am once again supporting The Evil. Mea culpa.) However, last night Michelle came a-visiting. Which was pleasant. (Yes

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1106338925654448152005-01-21T13:27:00.000-06:002005-01-21T14:22:05.653-06:00

All right, I'm a bit dizzy, but...huzzah for colours. (By the way, is it odd that I actually do use British spellings? All the time?) Well, yesterday was beautiful-- just a combination of little things, including several intelligent, well-spoken, and supportive English professors, a prayer by St. Ignatius, a mushroom sandwich, and lots of snow. The big news is that I've officially switched

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1106023430236788982005-01-17T22:42:00.000-06:002005-01-17T22:43:50.236-06:00

Back at school. More to come.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1104789724530212002005-01-03T15:54:00.000-06:002005-01-03T16:03:54.013-06:00

of J.R.R. Tolkien's eleventy-third birthday!!! So...I have no internet connection at home at the moment (yes, I know...did we ever, really?) Consequently, posting will continue to be all but non-existent from this quarter. As for PP...well, ask her yourself. I don't know nuthin' about nuthin'. And that's my final word. To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying, The wind is

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1102455478805908752004-12-07T14:59:00.000-06:002004-12-07T15:43:35.660-06:00

Well, a lot has gone on recently, but I haven't time to post, so you all will have to continue in blissful ignorance and/or breathless suspense-- your choice, of course. I'm going to post two last sonnets from the Romantics to close out the semester. They're really quite wonderful, and I'm glad I took the class, despite the abysmal teaching. So...first from Shelley (or should I say P-Dog):

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1101929618296235142004-12-01T13:25:00.000-06:002004-12-01T13:33:38.296-06:00

is more cleansing than autumn this year. Amazing. Yesterday I tramped all over campus in the snow. I also talked to one of the very few people in the world to whom I can be honest, about snow. There is a lot to think about, but I couldn't feel less inclined to do so.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1101695567939513742004-11-28T20:16:00.000-06:002004-11-28T20:32:47.940-06:00

Well, I had an unusually splendid Thanksgiving week. It can be entirely summed up by the following quotes: "I have one thing to say: I hunt and fish." "That is sooooo ecumenical." "Illegal do-si-do on the offense!" "Here you see the Advent wreath with its infamous four candles." "Night is day...day is night..." "I don't like being covered with flies!" "Cream 'um! Cream 'um!" And finally... "

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1100988218560467822004-11-20T15:49:00.000-06:002004-11-20T16:06:05.386-06:00

May I just mention, briefly, that the title of PP's last post and that rather lengthy quote are both from a medieval French fairy tale. We consider both to be side-splittingly funny. Maybe the hilarity is just within the context of the story, or within the context of the hospital waiting room where we were reading it out loud. In any case, they weren't meant to be taken seriously as some sort

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1100623965455197742004-11-16T10:51:00.000-06:002004-11-16T21:06:24.206-06:00

No? Darn. MY heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: ’Tis not through envy of thy happy lot, But being too happy in thine happiness,- That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, In some melodious plot Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, Singest of

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1100121071220130192004-11-10T15:07:00.001-06:002004-11-10T15:32:35.350-06:00

It is never difficult to distinguish between a Scotsman with a grievance and a ray of sunshine. --P.G. Wodhouse Actually, I would tend to disagree. Go here for more such gems. The man was a genius. Sometimes true wit seems all but dead.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1099950976325662092004-11-08T15:44:00.000-06:002004-11-09T16:02:52.106-06:00

The next planet was inhabited by a tippler. This was a very short visit, but it plunged the little prince into deep dejection. "What are you doing there?" he said to the tippler, whom he found settled down in silence before a collection of empty bottles and also a collection of full bottles. "I am drinking," replied the tippler, with a lugubrious air. "Why are you drinking?" demanded the

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1099597041047699902004-11-04T13:33:00.000-06:002004-11-04T13:38:10.236-06:00

"Let us be lovers-- we'll marry our fortunes together" "I've got some real estate here in my bag" So we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner pies And we walked off to look for America "Kathy," I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh "Michigan seems like a dream to me now" It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw I've gone to look for America Laughing on the bus Playing games

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1099341587193565692004-11-01T14:12:00.000-06:002004-11-01T14:47:32.680-06:00

At least, even when life is unpleasant, it is still interesting. This weekend was an abundance of distractions and diversions. Friday night Ping Pong and K/K/C and I tramped all over the city trying to find a bus stop (thus somewhat missing the point of a bus.) We ended up at K/K/C's house, where I met his 5 dogs, and then at Teen Night, where we unbalanced certain people by our presence,

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1098986166710892522004-10-28T13:32:00.001-05:002004-10-29T01:19:24.206-05:00

Last night Ping Pong, K/K/C, and I finished watching Great Expectations, the 5-hour Disney version. It was quite excellent. Anthony Hopkins played Magwitch, and John Rhys-Davies played Joe Gargery. Apparently, in some former life, he could act. The rest of the cast apparently consisted of British stage actors, which is always a plus. Question: Why are all the best stories heart-breakingly

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1098910621271046592004-10-27T15:54:00.000-05:002004-10-27T15:57:01.273-05:00

"It is absurd for you to be expected to make your own staples by day and crawl laps by night." Duncan Quagmire in The Austere Academy by Lemony Snicket That is all.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1098742262100945482004-10-25T16:56:00.000-05:002004-10-25T19:08:09.896-05:00

Today I am soaking things in. Especially the gorgeous autumn sunshine, but other things as well. My fall break was unexpectedly lovely: On Thursday night, I had larks with Imoth, including one of our mini-sessions and a late night walk down to the bridge. My grandparents also appeared suddenly from Minnesota, and did many grandparenty things, such as baking cookies, showing me pictures of

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1098204926859165542004-10-19T11:53:00.000-05:002004-10-19T11:55:26.860-05:00

I am so very excited. Johnny Depp + Kate Winslet + one of my favourite stories = a very good movie. The reviewers seem to think so too.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1098138003607261622004-10-18T17:19:00.000-05:002004-10-18T17:20:03.606-05:00

But in Man's dwellings he became a thing Restless and worn, and stern and wearisome, Droop'd as a wild-born falcon with clipt wing, To whom the boundless air alone were home: Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome, As eagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat His breast and beak against his wiry dome Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat Of his impeded soul would through his bosom

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1097952609419947952004-10-15T17:39:00.000-05:002004-10-18T17:16:20.276-05:00

This morning I ate a blueberry muffin in the rain. I also encountered two phrases that are strangely moving, in entirely different ways. "It is dawn." "What is an apple?" The first phrase is poetry in the very best way. It's not flowery, it doesn't have layer upon layer of metaphor. It's just words, and they're powerful. I have a feeling the second phrase doesn't inspire most people as it

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1097601016153305352004-10-12T11:58:00.000-05:002004-10-12T12:10:16.153-05:00

Ping Pong and I watched "The Silence of the Lambs" last night. It is an incredible piece of art, as evidenced by the fact that I was shaking for about 15 minutes after it ended. We decided that you would have to have a lot of artistic maturity and the right kind of direction in order to play a role like Hannibal Lector without damaging yourself. Actually, I think acting can be very dangerous

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1097463623169744442004-10-10T21:39:00.000-05:002004-10-10T23:56:36.553-05:00

I'm realizing more and more that it's really the very smallest, most unassuming details of life that have the profoundest affect on us. One glance from one certain person, or a 5-minute conversation about nothing in particular, can mean everything-- if that person means everything. Someone's absence can be as tangible as their presence. A line from a poem, or a laugh, or a sunlit tree, or a

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1097169484791087462004-10-07T11:33:00.001-05:002004-10-07T13:38:13.740-05:00

Sorry, all. I've been remiss, I know. My life keeps plodding along...how about a poem, instead of pointless self-analysis? NOT, I’ll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee; Not untwist—slack they may be—these last strands of man In me or, most weary, cry I can no more. I can; Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be. But ah, but O thou terrible, why wouldst

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1095831077348195582004-09-22T01:22:00.000-05:002004-09-22T00:39:58.596-05:00

Good things have been happening, by some strange aberration. It won't last long, I deem, but...gather ye roses while ye may. The Schoenstatt Mass on Saturday went swimmingly. The group was small but solid, Kyle sang lovely music, Fr. Kubicki preached with pizazz, the presentations were quite servicable, and we had an unreasonably plentiful amount of refreshments. Pleasant times had by all.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1095351245593235612004-09-16T11:12:00.000-05:002004-09-16T11:14:05.593-05:00

Summer went out in perfect form yesterday, and this morning the smell of autumn hit me full in the face when I walked out the door. I was grinning all the way to work.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1095277534048741272004-09-15T14:42:00.000-05:002004-09-15T14:45:34.046-05:00

Quite possibly the Coolest Site There Is.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1095110013603955222004-09-13T16:01:00.000-05:002004-09-13T16:50:26.920-05:00

Just another 45 minutes, and then I can go take a nap. Well, I take that back. First I have to go to the library and send out a mass email to my fellow Schoenstatt planners, and then I have to eat dinner before the caf closes, and then I can take a nap. Maybe. In other news, my classes remain astronomically better than last year. Reading Plato, Wordsworth, Frankl, Shelley, and God is a

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1094573906055218292004-09-07T11:00:00.000-05:002004-09-07T11:38:40.870-05:00

I feel that I ought to check in, seeing that I've been at school for weeks now and have posted nothing but fragments of poetry. I've made a valiant effort to enjoy Marquette this year, and it has worked-- sporadically. At the very least, I begin feel like a real student rather than an inmate (of either a prison, an asylum, or both). My classes have some academic weight, several of my

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1094145363797706762004-09-02T12:08:00.000-05:002004-09-02T12:16:03.796-05:00

A very happy birthday to my fantabulous and deviant brother, Nate the Great. "The world is quiet here."

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1094067419557649122004-09-01T14:36:00.000-05:002004-09-01T14:36:59.556-05:00

Be mine a philosopher’s life in the quiet woodland ways, Where if I cannot be gay let a passionless peace be my lot, Far-off from the clamour of liars belied in the hubbub of lies; From the long-neck’d geese of the world that are ever hissing dispraise Because their natures are little, and, whether he heed it or not, Where each man walks with his head in a cloud of poisonous flies. --Tennyson

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1093462656118034252004-08-25T14:33:00.000-05:002004-08-25T14:37:36.120-05:00

Song Written in August Now westlin winds and slaught'ring guns Bring Autumn's pleasant weather; The moorcock springs on whirring wings Amang the blooming heather: Now waving grain, wide o'er the plain, Delights the weary farmer; And the moon shines bright, when I rove at night, To muse upon my charmer. The partridge loves the fruitful fells, The plover loves the mountains; The

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1093461072460547042004-08-25T14:06:00.000-05:002004-08-25T14:20:00.070-05:00

Five centuries old and still relevent: For him was lever han at his beddes hed A twenty bokes, clothed in black or red, Of Aristotle, and his philosophie, Than robes riche, or fidel, or sautrie. But all be that he was a philosophre, Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre. --Canterbury Tales. Prologue. Line 295 Interpretation: it's time for me to head over to Sweeney's and beggar myself buying

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1093271100645383442004-08-23T08:48:00.000-05:002004-08-23T09:25:00.646-05:00

Irish Fest was, as usual, amazing. We danced, and ate bridies, and fled from leprauchans, and bought kilt hose, and basked in the world's most beautiful music. We discovered two great new bands, Teada out of Donnegal (thanks, James) and Rajus from the Aran Islands. We also heard Gaelic Storm, of course (twice), and Natalie MacMaster. I won't say any more: if I do, I'll just go off on one of

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1092965846254492402004-08-19T20:33:00.000-05:002004-08-20T08:47:24.636-05:00

Irish Fest begins today!!! In honour, I've revived this old quiz that I made a while ago: What Kind Of Traditional Scottish Tune Are You? Hey diddly dee.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1092232871142103882004-08-11T08:47:00.000-05:002004-08-11T09:08:06.723-05:00

From the Scottish play: To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more: it is a tale Told by an idiot, full of

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1091645298812809432004-08-04T13:32:00.000-05:002004-08-04T14:07:40.696-05:00

Wow, Ping Pong. A few comments: *Good poem. Wanna make a film about Tennyson? *All the colours are a trifle disconcerting. Stop playing games with my psyche. (jo-ack!) *ALIB, eh? Merciful heavens. *Isn't it possible to be for the kids and for excellent theatre? *pout* *In general: HA! So, besides all that... Thistledoon had a rockin' rehearsal last night. We arranged a couple of awesome sets,

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1091454747384412802004-08-02T08:43:00.000-05:002004-08-02T08:52:27.383-05:00

FROM the forests and highlands We come, we come; From the river-girt islands, Where loud waves are dumb, Listening to my sweet pipings. The wind in the reeds and the rushes, The bees on the bells of thyme, The birds on the myrtle bushes, The cicale above in the lime, And the lizards below in the grass, Were as silent as ever old Tmolus was, Listening to my sweet pipings.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1091306621880459352004-07-31T15:31:00.000-05:002004-07-31T16:11:41.726-05:00

Last night Dan came over and we watched "The Empire Strikes Back". It was cheesy, overblown, and cliche, with terrible acting. Of course, it was simultaneously delightful. The perfect movie to watch with friends, so you can eat Sun Chips and make strange comments throughout without missing anything earth-shattering. And of course, plenty of fire fights and large, dangerous pieces of machinery

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1091041298879607622004-07-28T13:50:00.000-05:002004-08-02T14:05:13.423-05:00

Hello, all. Yes, posting has been sparse, to put the matter mildly. Perhaps I will be forgiven if I point out that I just spent a week in bed, courtesy of a lovely case of bronchitis. And yes, as Ping Pong pointed out, my home computer has Gone to Its Eternal Reward. Or perhaps it has Kicked The Bucket. Or possibly Given Up The Ghost. (Other ideas, Imoth?) So, I shall do my durndest to

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1089812002487869262004-07-14T08:15:00.000-05:002004-07-26T11:40:01.960-05:00

Well, Midsummer goes up tonight. Hmmm. This show has almost, but not quite, licked me. It's taken every bit of my physical stamina and emotional stability. Last night was the traditional "run from hell", where everything that could go wrong did. Actually, I was secretly relieved that it turned out that way-- my deeply ingrained theatre superstition tells me that a terrible run will get the

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1087221751451019972004-06-14T08:49:00.000-05:002004-06-14T09:02:31.450-05:00

I had my first gig as a DJ's assistant on Saturday. It was...interesting. The DJ was a large man who both talked and sweated profusely. He was nice enough, though, and was understanding of the fact that my supervisor had given me no training (though I think he was slightly taken aback by this!). I got to operate the mixer-- teehee! Unfortunately they don't use vinyl anymore, but I did feel

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1086786463917871292004-06-09T07:53:00.000-05:002004-06-09T15:33:58.443-05:00

If you haven't heard Jim Malcolm's rendition of this bonnie auld ballad, you haven't lived. It's amazing to think about the fact that it has been sung for four centuries. I dearly wish I could have been there when a minstrel came to someone's door on a wintry night, begged a corner by the fire in exchange for a song, and sang this for the very first time. THE king sits in Dunfermline town

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1086183231873142712004-06-02T08:15:00.000-05:002004-06-02T08:42:32.126-05:00

This is getting ridiculous. Physics, my monkey's grandmother. We need some pinging and ponging on this here blog. But, in the meantime...a little Yeats? I think yes. The Lake Isle of Innisfree I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made: Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1085170941824388892004-05-21T14:55:00.000-05:002004-05-21T15:25:56.623-05:00

Which means it's going to be a good summer. Here comes the sun, here comes the sun And I say it's all right Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here Here comes the sun, here comes the sun And I say it's all right Little darling, the smiles returning to the faces Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here Here

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1085001428189018002004-05-19T16:02:00.000-05:002004-05-19T16:27:20.693-05:00

Theatre, dearest friends, is an addiction. I finally make the final, indelible decision to take a year off from the crazy business, and then I turn around and let myself in for the Theatre Project to End All Theatre Projects, one that will gobble up my summer and sap all my energy and possibly drive me to insanity. (As a side note, it will also fill me with glee and allow me to make money doing

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1084840957289360822004-05-17T19:41:00.000-05:002004-05-17T19:42:37.290-05:00

This darksome burn, horseback brown, His rollrock highroad roaring down, In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam Flutes and low to the lake falls home. A windpuff-bonnet of fawn-froth Turns and twindles over the broth Of a pool so pitchblack, fell-frowning, It rounds and rounds Despair to drowning. Degged with dew, dappled with dew Are the groins of the braes

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1084560529189131982004-05-14T13:33:00.000-05:002004-05-17T19:39:21.866-05:00

Lie there now among the fish, who will lick the away from your wound, and care nothing for you, nor will your mother lay you on the -bed and mourn over you, but Skamandros will carry you spinning down the wide bend of the salt water. And a fish will break a ripple shuddering dark on the water as he rises to feed upon the shining fat of Lykaon. Die on, all; till we come to the city of

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1083771188166943912004-05-05T10:33:00.000-05:002004-05-05T14:30:05.263-05:00

It would be nice to be a genius. It would also be nice to find one artistic medium that I could focus on and excel in. However, maybe those things are mutually exclusive. Most geniuses seem to be dabblers. Then again, there are a lot of dabblers who are not geniuses, and I still fall very squarely within that category. One comfort that will always remain to me is the genius of others. I was

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1083703313813196262004-05-04T15:41:00.000-05:002004-05-04T15:46:02.793-05:00

Of course I do not mean that the Gospels tell what is only a fairy story; but I do mean very strongly that they tell a fairy-story: the greatest. Man the story teller would have to be redeemed in a manner consonant with his nature: by a moving story. But since the author of it is the supreme Artist and Author of Reality, this one was also made to Be, to be true on the Primary Plane. --J.R.R.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1083173499260111402004-04-28T12:31:00.000-05:002004-04-28T12:39:42.950-05:00

To the King! "Do thy worst, old Time; despite thy wrong, my love shall in my verse ever live young" Sonnet 19

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1083173137342947542004-04-28T12:25:00.000-05:002004-04-28T12:29:53.153-05:00

Posting will be rather sparse from Fuzz this week. Finals, you know.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1083173045125848012004-04-28T12:24:00.000-05:002004-04-28T12:28:20.950-05:00

The world is so full of a number of things I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings. --Robert Louis Stevenson

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1082686730012896922004-04-22T21:18:00.000-05:002004-04-28T12:32:36.170-05:00

A rather long one, but well worth it. The Hound of Heaven

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1082409764133551092004-04-19T16:22:00.000-05:002004-04-19T16:26:47.746-05:00

I have surprisingly little to say, but I thought I had better post, so I'm not assumed dead. Or perhaps the problem is that I have too much to say. Here's a bit of a poser for all of you: should art always have a message of redemption, or can it just ask questions without answering them? Some of the art which has affected me most has merely expressed some painful reality without a message of

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1082063370451115522004-04-15T16:09:00.000-05:002004-04-15T16:13:28.716-05:00

I saw Hidalgo with the Unnamed Fragment of the Core. It was deliciously overdone. Oh, to live in a world where everything is so simple and straightforward-- challenges come along, you meet them head on, and you triumph in a blaze of glory and sappy theme music. Off to Mass-- more later.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1081882222417516322004-04-13T13:50:00.000-05:002004-04-28T12:36:12.873-05:00

April is Frog Month!!!

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1081272362483348892004-04-06T12:26:00.000-05:002004-04-06T12:35:06.763-05:00

I always get a bit irked when people refer to rain as "bad weather". Today I nearly got drunk on moist, rain-soaked air. The sky was a gorgeous slate blue, and everything was dim and peaceful. Best of all, there is a hole in the bottom of my shoe, so the rainwater leaked in. It was delightful. Quick survey: Should Fuzz a) fly off to Maine, en route to the most beautiful country on God's

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1081132583785635292004-04-04T21:36:00.000-05:002004-04-04T21:40:44.436-05:00

If I were not running on two hours of sleep, I might post something witty and diverting to brighten your lives. But I am, so I shall post a pirate song and call it a night. Ah...sleeeeeeeeep... Avast belay, yo ho, heave to, A-pirating we go, And if we’re parted by a shot We’re sure to meet below! Yo ho, yo ho, the pirate life, The flag o’skull and bones, A merry hour, a hempen rope, And hey

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1080865923142288652004-04-01T18:32:00.000-06:002004-04-01T18:35:42.043-06:00

Imoth and I were playing dictionary games (that's right, don't pretend you're not envious), and discovered that "dreary" comes from the Old English word for "gore", and that it used to mean "covered in blood". Make sure you look properly horrified next time someone says it looks dreary outside.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1080768909228145072004-03-31T15:35:00.000-06:002004-04-06T12:48:04.420-05:00

My inner child is sixteen years old! Life's not fair! It's never been fair, but whileadults might just accept that, I knowsomething's gotta change. And it's gonnachange, just as soon as I become an adult andget some power of my own. How Old is Your Inner Child? brought to you by Quizilla

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1080764473644748282004-03-31T14:21:00.000-06:002004-04-13T13:51:36.250-05:00

What kind of traditional Scottish tune are you?

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1080757436527856542004-03-31T12:23:00.000-06:002004-03-31T15:32:29.560-06:00

I've returned as well, from a wee hiatus. It's a strange day. I dreamed I was the Ring-bearer, overslept my alarm, and am now trying to piece together all the elusive bits of thought that are dancing around inside my head-- Dr. Hills with his cup of tea and his dressing gown, and the 4th century coin I just handled, and Robert Frost's poetry, and the sun shining, and the Yorkshire moorlands,

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1078292577445447882004-03-02T23:42:00.000-06:002004-04-06T12:44:34.420-05:00

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1078118125714887052004-02-29T23:15:00.000-06:002004-02-29T23:22:26.903-06:00

What you've all been waiting for... The winners of this year's Limerick Contest!!!! And the award goes to... (drum roll, please...) Timothy Gotcher!!!! (Theme music swells. Tim, wipe that smirk off your face.) The winning limerick is as follows: There once was a man who was dead Kicked the bucket and can with his head. He was born to the life Without this mortal strife, Gave the

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1077925844807397792004-02-27T17:50:00.000-06:002004-02-27T17:53:36.763-06:00

Upon the hearth the fire is red, Beneath the roof there is a bed; But not yet weary are our feet, Still round the corner we may meet A sudden tree or standing stone That none have seen but we alone. Tree and flower, leaf and grass, Let them pass! Let them pass! Hill and water under sky, Pass them by! Pass them by! Still round the corner there may wait A new road or a secret gate, And though we

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1077872223457169362004-02-27T02:57:00.000-06:002004-02-27T02:59:54.483-06:00

There was once a man in confusion Who really needed a transfusion Of knowledge locked in a girl Whose mind was a twirl So finally he gave into her illusion In Paris there lived a small man Whose name was Sir Arthur McCann: He dug and did delve He placed and did shelve And from tigers and lions

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1077745178758636622004-02-25T15:39:00.000-06:002004-02-25T15:42:28.013-06:00

Today is Ash Wednesday, which seems like a good day to smell spring for the first time. Odd, really-- I remember blogging about the first day I smelled autumn. A long time ago, it seems. That day, I was surprised that I could be so happy while actually being so miserable. Today I am surprised that I can be so miserable while actually being so happy. I'm suspicious of spring. The air always

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1077679492711894802004-02-24T21:24:00.000-06:002004-02-24T21:27:41.106-06:00

This is my first real evening at home in heaven knows how long. I'd almost forgotten that it was possible to relax and study in a leisurely but productive fashion. I've also discovered an online Celtic music station, which is delightful. Now all I need is a bonny lad and a wee dram to be perfectly content. Happy Mardis Gras to all.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1077215646156504472004-02-19T12:34:00.000-06:002004-02-19T12:39:42.640-06:00

That dreary intercourse of daily life, Shall ne'er prevail against us, or disturb Our cheerful faith, that all which we behold Is full of blessings. Therefore let the moon Shine on thee in thy solitary walk; And let the mountain winds be free To blow against thee... --William Wordsworth I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to rout

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1077133555110029512004-02-18T13:45:00.000-06:002004-03-31T14:25:27.390-06:00

The show that's devouring my life.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1077130433439542802004-02-18T12:53:00.000-06:002004-02-18T13:52:32.200-06:00

I would like to compile a list of euphemisms for insanity. It seems rather applicable to my current situation. --lost his marbles --lost his wits --mentally unhinged --bats in the belfry --psychologically disturbed --not all there --cracked --batty --mad --loopy --loony --out of his mind (an interesting one-- does it mean "outside of his mind looking in?") Any more, folks? Well on the way,

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1076901797319365602004-02-15T21:23:00.000-06:002004-02-15T21:25:53.390-06:00

Even if it is all a sham, it's worth it, if only for the brief shining moments. Tonight I made a cameo appearance in Memorandum, and recieved a compliment from Bobes, and was invited to a party, and sessioned with two lovely lads named Colin Gherty and Brian Moore. And I felt loved. And none of this means that tomorrow I won't feel inclined to curl up in a dark corner and quietly die. But

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1076690674055796842004-02-13T10:44:00.000-06:002004-02-13T10:51:00.123-06:00

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking. I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1076611969048046802004-02-12T12:52:00.000-06:002004-03-03T10:45:13.090-06:00

A wee diversion.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1076438984567391422004-02-10T12:49:00.000-06:002004-02-12T12:55:48.153-06:00

There once was a Scotsman named Ali, Who lived in the Tweed River valley. He ate haggis and tripe, And he played the bagpipe, But he married a Maura O'Malley.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6026008.post-1076269917770157342004-02-08T13:51:00.000-06:002004-02-08T13:54:24.090-06:00

Now, now, almost-Dr. Miller. That was amusing enough, but didn't we specify that all limericks submitted had to be original? We expect a good many highly creative and witty entries in reparation.

Fuzzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12470857358374630376noreply@blogger.com