Day One!
Hi
Woke up and snuck out of the old house in the middle of the night to catch a ferry to the new world. I met a fellow traveler by the name of Kato, who was amused that I carry swords. Rode to Victoria on the bus in a most unusual position: my luggage beside me I was squatting the whole way, reading my Lyons. For about an hour I had a most flattering and personal view of a young lady's posterior: "The recognition of gender as a grammatical category is logically independent of any particular semantic associations that might be established between the gender of a noun and the physical or other properties of the persons of objects denoted by the noun." A pair of short shorts are pressing into my face, Lyons, I will take a moment now to ponder the physical properties of these objects. "Gender is semantically relevant in the case of words which are traditionally described as having 'common gender'. The French word enfant is inherently indeterminate with regards to gender, but is determined as either masculine or feminine according to the sex of the child referred to." I remember being quite young, flipping through a book of photographs by one of the camera obscura(o?) fellows; there was a series quite like this bus ride that confused me at the time. "There are at least six genders in Swahili (and many more in some other Bantu languages). In most languages that have gender there is some 'natural', semantic basis for the classification. This is not necessarily sex: It may be shape, texture, color, edibility, &c..." Once again Lyons, you have given me a great deal to think about. Her casual movements change the landscape completely: I'm having to reclassify her every time I glance up from you.
In Victoria I stowed my stuff at one caffe and ran off to another to work a day. A very lazy day it was! I basically spent the whole time marveling at the antiquity of their piston driven espresso machine, pulling shots, and impressing everyone by pouring art onto maccha. Closed the shop after six hours or so of working with lovely Zoe (who insists that there is an OOMLATZ or some such diacritical mark over her final "e") and spun off to an internet caffe. Next is the hostel: Good night!
z.
Woke up and snuck out of the old house in the middle of the night to catch a ferry to the new world. I met a fellow traveler by the name of Kato, who was amused that I carry swords. Rode to Victoria on the bus in a most unusual position: my luggage beside me I was squatting the whole way, reading my Lyons. For about an hour I had a most flattering and personal view of a young lady's posterior: "The recognition of gender as a grammatical category is logically independent of any particular semantic associations that might be established between the gender of a noun and the physical or other properties of the persons of objects denoted by the noun." A pair of short shorts are pressing into my face, Lyons, I will take a moment now to ponder the physical properties of these objects. "Gender is semantically relevant in the case of words which are traditionally described as having 'common gender'. The French word enfant is inherently indeterminate with regards to gender, but is determined as either masculine or feminine according to the sex of the child referred to." I remember being quite young, flipping through a book of photographs by one of the camera obscura(o?) fellows; there was a series quite like this bus ride that confused me at the time. "There are at least six genders in Swahili (and many more in some other Bantu languages). In most languages that have gender there is some 'natural', semantic basis for the classification. This is not necessarily sex: It may be shape, texture, color, edibility, &c..." Once again Lyons, you have given me a great deal to think about. Her casual movements change the landscape completely: I'm having to reclassify her every time I glance up from you.
In Victoria I stowed my stuff at one caffe and ran off to another to work a day. A very lazy day it was! I basically spent the whole time marveling at the antiquity of their piston driven espresso machine, pulling shots, and impressing everyone by pouring art onto maccha. Closed the shop after six hours or so of working with lovely Zoe (who insists that there is an OOMLATZ or some such diacritical mark over her final "e") and spun off to an internet caffe. Next is the hostel: Good night!
z.