Archive for June, 2012
“So, I love this part when your date starts calling you fat. That’s probably the best part of the story and I think you should draw that out more.” I am speaking on Skype, so my position is prone and languorous. The pre-rain muggy weather has forced me into a pair of the loosest shorts I own and a T-shirt that was built for spaghetti stains. As M begins to speak, I take the opportunity to cram a few cheese doodles into my throat.
“Yeah, I agree,” she says. “I want to focus on how upset I am here. I want to look more pathetic, but how?” A high-pitched squealing comes from behind her somewhere. “My dogs hear your voice; they are eating their squeak toys again.”
It is good to know that my voice has a dog-whistle effect on canines.
“Oh, I know…were you sweating on the date?”
“Oh yeah; it was in August.”
“OK, from where?”
“My boobs. I always sweat from my boobs.”
“Great! OK, get it in there that you were sweating from your boobs when he called you fat. That’ll make you more pathetic.”
I wait in the hallway, my knees on the seat of an office swivel-chair. My colleague, G, is kneeling on a chair beside me. The wheels of the chairs whine against the wooden floor. We are both officially wearing a game face, which means that I look like a Cro-Magnon on a quest for fire and G has begun sweating into the chair.
Being a university teacher means that pressure is seasonal and intense. These are periods marked by gallons of coffee and cold sandwiches inhaled while grading tests and correcting essays. They are blurry with lessons and leave me sapped at the end of the day. In these periods of intense pressure I arrive at the office greeted by a line of students holding notebooks and confused frowns.
This is not one of those periods.
I turn to G and say, “My friend, you are going down like Jenna Jameson on a movie set.”
Kinoshita picked up the sword; he had been waiting a long while for this confrontation with the demoness. It had all come down to this moment, one of them was going to die and the other would have Taki’s soul. As he moved toward the demoness, the room filled with a gaggle of young, beautiful girls dressed in what appeared to be sheer dinner napkins. Kinoshita struggled to maintain his composure in the presence of such flaunted nubile skin, but even the demoness shrugged at him and put down her kanabō.
Having discarded their weapons and altogether forgetting why they had wanted to destroy each other in the first place, they both took a seat in the Shinto shrine and enjoyed the phenomenal spectacle of young women in a Prague summer.
The preceding delusional fantasy is a pretty solid representation of what it’s like trying to concentrate on anything on Prague public transport in the summer. The three things Czech women do best in hot weather are be beautiful, close windows and wear very little. This means productivity gets beaten down like a Justin Bieber fan at an Anthrax concert.
So you’re a normal everyday schmuck, gliding through life on the internet feathered wings of procrastination. You have a brainpan full of excuses and a full DVD collection so you’re all set.
And then, out of nowhere, you‘re told by a far more responsible classmate that your major academic work, hypothetically let’s call it an MA thesis, is due in seven days and not the 24 days you were counting on.
the problem is that it’s far enough away that you must try to beat the deadline, but close enough that it’s going to be a headache the likes of which usually come from distilled fruit.
How to handle this scenario? Following these five rules will help you get that (hypothetical) thesis in on time with a minimum of blood spilled, public weeping and destroyed relationships.
Date: June 8th, 2012
My interpretation of events:
I walk into the Student Studies Department and ask a question to which I believe I already know the answer. To the best of my recollection, the following conversation is 100% accurate.
“Hi L, I’m just checking, the deadline for handing in MA theses is June 30th, right?”
“Hi. Yeah, pretty much. June 15th is better, but you should be able to get it in on the 30th. No problemo.” She stares at me in what can only be described as a painfully withheld demonstration of lust. “Your haircut makes you look tall and slim.”
Today as I click on an article called ‘10 Things that Scientists Now Know about the Ocean’ on Smithsonian.com, there is that sense of ominous foreboding like that which surrounds a drunken boy stepping into a tool shed in a horror movie. Anyway, I am feeling brave so I click the link.
We all make mistakes. We sometimes make them on Sunday. We usually regret them. We often make them on the internet. Today, I accomplish all three.
In honor of one year of blogging, I am posting the top ten search engine queries that led people to my blog. Some of these people should be immediately hospitalized, some of them should be made scientific study subjects. In any case, here are the top ten adjoined by comments, witty and otherwise.
I appreciate that someone is searching for an online website of all Galeone all the time, but I just don’t know how exciting 24 hours in the life of a short-legged popcorn enthusiast is going to be for anyone. Channels include feeding and cleaning the cat, jogging and weeping, reading at bedtime and the many sweater vests of an ESL teacher.
I mouth the pronunciation (fesh-ahk) and ask my companion, N, “Did she just call me a fascist?”
N has already burst into laughter that could require a trip to the hospital.
My face gets red. “What does that mean?”
When N gathers his senses and shakes off a few aftershock giggles, he tells me that fešák means roughly handsome man.