March 10th, 2004


(no subject)

So. I should go to bed, but I was hit by a migraine this afternoon and took a nap, so I'm not tired. I really am steeling myself to start my mesmerism paper tomorrow, because I'd like to be able to go out (or rather, stay in and booze through a couple of movies, more likely) with the Lovely Em. And there's still more reading to do for the same class. Now, if I do all my work tomorrow like a good girl, it should be a breeze. But I am a champion procrastinator--I've won the state title fourteen years in a row, man--so we'll see how this goes.

The Lovely Em and I had lunch at California Pizza Kitchen today and talked shop (namely French catacombs--odd shop we have, isn't it?), had the warm chocolate soufflé with vanilla bean sauce for dessert, and then wandered around Barnes & Noble for about an hour, looking at books we have neither the time nor the money to read, but really really want to read anyway.

Soooo muuuuch reeeeading. I wish I had more hours in the day. I know I'll have spring break, but I'm so behind on my wish list and I'll be doped up on painkillers--some days I wish I could just eat books.
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msauvage purple

Elizabethan icons

So... you've probably seen this on metaquotes, because it was posted all over LJ and JF yesterday (and with good reason). But to recap, wankprophet wrote the most awesome bit about rabid Elizabethan fans:

Thou varlet, thou pig's snout whorehound of a playwright, thou hast no conception of how Iago's character shouldst be developed. Thou shouldst be hoist by thy own petard, thou retard. I envisioneth an Iago who is truly the hero of the perverse love quadrangle between Othello, Desdemona, Cassio and himself. My own fiction hath him doing teh_nasty with Othello as the vile Cassio rapeth that whore Desdemona. Doth thou not grasp that just because Burbage doth play a part that we liketh him not, only the character? ~ Yours, Ben "Benadryl" Jonson.

I careth not for Iago, but Shakespeare's Cassius hath a lean and hungry look. Doth he not know this turns us on, maketh us sploogeth in our pants? Why doth he persist in pretending that his villians are knaves and scoundrels? Why doth he bite his thumb at us? Well, I bite my merry widow at him! ~ Sir Honorus Persnickity

-- "Well I bite my merry widow at him!" Splorfle!!! OMG I loveth thee so much! ~ Kit Marlowe

There's more, but you see where I'm going with this. So we all started making icons. And I found a goldmine of Shakespeare in Love pictures...

More in my Photo Bucket folder, free for the taking...