oh, what stories i am accumulating
my phone just rang
number: Unknown
and so I answered and it's this dude saying "hello? Hello? Hello?" and I'm saying, "Hello? Can you hear me?" and he goes, "You speak English?" and then "You speak French?" I say, in French, Yeah, I speak French. And I say, Who are you? And he mutters something -- you know how a phone sounds when the person blows too much air into the microphone so it's all staticky and fuzzy? That obscured half his speech. So he goes "Where do you live?" and I say "Dublin." And he says something about francais-anglais, fuzz fuzz, and I say, "How did you find this number?" and I think he was probably saying he typed in random numbers. Fuzz fuzz. "Juste pour rire." Just for laughs. So I go, "Do you know me?" and he goes "no." And then he starts talking about how it's just for fun, just a game. And I say, "Sorry, I don't want to play. Merci et bonne nuit."
Maybe it was via Skype. I just thought of that. Since that forwards to my cell when the program's not running on the computer. Anyway, it's a good story.
(and I've just realized it must cost me to receive calls on my cell, cause my credit's down about 7 bucks. Ew, that's 16c a minute.)
Dream dictionaries say that the dream of drinking milk means a period of "vigorous good health," by the way. or "emotional nourishment of a motherly kind," which my mama has been giving me in spades for the last ... forever, but especially three months. And also during last term. And over the summer. And the semester before that. Essentially, for the past year. Love you, Mom.
This evening, Jeremy and I went to a concert -- the debut of a new ensemble Alon is in. They played modern music. Of six pieces, I enjoyed one ("based on" this poem). Two, perhaps. A couple of others were okay until they lost their novelty, but some were just no longer "music" -- dissonance and atonality played out of sync, or rhythms with their pitches all relative to a one-line stave? Not my thing.
On our way out, we passed a boxing match in the exam hall (it was pay in, so we just peeked), then went to get hot chocolate.
On our return to Goldsmith, we discovered that a) my keycard doesn't work for the stairs or the building door (gotta talk to accommodations tomorrow), but the apartment door is fine, and b) a PSA on the courtyard bulletin board. It went something like this:
"It seems that in Goldsmith Hall kitchens and rooms no hot water or cold water is to be found. ... Some have working showers, some kitchen taps have cold water. The toilets appear to be unaffected. ... Buildings Maintenance has been informed."
Like, no matter where you look, you're not gonna find hot or cold water. There is none to be found.
Funny story is that the ceiling directly above this announcement was dripping water onto the ground.
Lastly, someone's alarm siren has been going off for hours.
number: Unknown
and so I answered and it's this dude saying "hello? Hello? Hello?" and I'm saying, "Hello? Can you hear me?" and he goes, "You speak English?" and then "You speak French?" I say, in French, Yeah, I speak French. And I say, Who are you? And he mutters something -- you know how a phone sounds when the person blows too much air into the microphone so it's all staticky and fuzzy? That obscured half his speech. So he goes "Where do you live?" and I say "Dublin." And he says something about francais-anglais, fuzz fuzz, and I say, "How did you find this number?" and I think he was probably saying he typed in random numbers. Fuzz fuzz. "Juste pour rire." Just for laughs. So I go, "Do you know me?" and he goes "no." And then he starts talking about how it's just for fun, just a game. And I say, "Sorry, I don't want to play. Merci et bonne nuit."
Maybe it was via Skype. I just thought of that. Since that forwards to my cell when the program's not running on the computer. Anyway, it's a good story.
(and I've just realized it must cost me to receive calls on my cell, cause my credit's down about 7 bucks. Ew, that's 16c a minute.)
Dream dictionaries say that the dream of drinking milk means a period of "vigorous good health," by the way. or "emotional nourishment of a motherly kind," which my mama has been giving me in spades for the last ... forever, but especially three months. And also during last term. And over the summer. And the semester before that. Essentially, for the past year. Love you, Mom.
This evening, Jeremy and I went to a concert -- the debut of a new ensemble Alon is in. They played modern music. Of six pieces, I enjoyed one ("based on" this poem). Two, perhaps. A couple of others were okay until they lost their novelty, but some were just no longer "music" -- dissonance and atonality played out of sync, or rhythms with their pitches all relative to a one-line stave? Not my thing.
On our way out, we passed a boxing match in the exam hall (it was pay in, so we just peeked), then went to get hot chocolate.
On our return to Goldsmith, we discovered that a) my keycard doesn't work for the stairs or the building door (gotta talk to accommodations tomorrow), but the apartment door is fine, and b) a PSA on the courtyard bulletin board. It went something like this:
"It seems that in Goldsmith Hall kitchens and rooms no hot water or cold water is to be found. ... Some have working showers, some kitchen taps have cold water. The toilets appear to be unaffected. ... Buildings Maintenance has been informed."
Like, no matter where you look, you're not gonna find hot or cold water. There is none to be found.
Funny story is that the ceiling directly above this announcement was dripping water onto the ground.
Lastly, someone's alarm siren has been going off for hours.