The Week

Returning to last week's discussion of raunch in metaphysical poetry, our distinguished teacher had this to say, much to our horror...
Sir: A bit of raunch is an important part of any consenting adult relationship.
Me: Can I quote you on that one, Sir?
Sir: I'd rather you didn't.

Today was Harry Potter dress up day (long story there). I dressed up as Professor Umbridge. Sarah dressed up as a basilisk using a sock puppet with eyes stuck on.

For the record, Mr Mo looks like an older, scarless version of Harry Potter with nicer glasses.

At the beginning of class, Sarah stuck the puppet in Sir's face. He hissed at it. He then told us that it was our problem we didn't speak parseltongue.

About 10 minutes later we were divided into pairs and each put on a computer in order to do some practice exam collaboration. Monica was in the classroom because she enjoys our company and secretly regrets dropping extension.

Sarah and I were on pair, Sophia and Elsa were the other. We were seated at computers when it was noted that the class had been inadvertently segregated: Monica (Philipino), Sophia (Vietnamese) and Elsa (Chinese) were all at one end of the room; Sir (at least 4th generation Australian), Sarah (She lives in the Shire. That says something about her lineage) and I (European ancestors is about as close as I can get) were on the other.

I am unfortunately unable to document what Mr Mo said next, because it is impossible not to be misconstrued. But it was hilarious.

The Week US Edition

I've been promising this for a while, and here it is:

Intercom on the Caltrain to San Jose on Monday 2 August: Attention all Caltrain passengers. If you have a monthly pass for July, it expires at noon on the first business day of the next month. Which is today. So it expired about 10 minutes ago.

You definitely don't get that on Cityrail.

Me Love Cookie

Recently I have been making a Cookie Monster hat in preparation for year 12 trivia night and it's dress-up theme. I just finished it. I'll put up pictures as soon as someone takes a photo and uploads it to Facebook (my internet being what it is, there's no point in me doing it, I won't actually upload the photo for a couple of months).

Suffice to say it's AWESOME.

The Week (old school style)

As of today, I am back at school (cue much rejoicing). I'm not going to comment on the fact that according to my new timetable, I now have two doubles of maths on a friday.

And so, The Week!!!

We were in latin (as I inadvertantly am whenever something funny happens) and Mr Mo was a touch... different.
Me: Sir, are you high on cough medication?
Sir: Yes.
Me: Really?
Sir: No.
Me: Would you like me to put that on the record?
Sir: Maybe.

Later, we were in Latin, and John Donne's Busy Old Fool came up. Apparently one of the english teachers had read it to his class and had been rather... enthusiastic in doing so.
Sir was defending the validity of the poem, as he is wont to do.
Sir: It's a bit raunchy. Raunchy is good.
Me: Not when it's coming from you, sir.
Sir: That's not what my wife says.
At which point we all cracked up.

And then we got onto the topic of Cicero and Catullus' mutual burnign hatred.
Mr Mo tried to describe their reasons for hating each other. Apparently Cicero was a conservative, whereas Catullus...wasn't.
Sir: Cicero would have been a John Howard voter. Catullus would have voted for the Greens.
Me: Could we take it one step further and say that he'd vote for the HEMP party? [Help End Marijuana Prohibition]
Soap & Sarah: Sex party!
Sir: I think he might have had a few sex parties himself.

The conversation then took it's logical course... to Harry Potter.
Basically, Catullus had put the word patronus in his poem regardign Cicero. In this case we were to take patronus to mean lawyer as opposed to patron.
Sir: Expecto Patronum - I'm waiting for a lawyer.

And that's from one day of school. I'll be back next friday with a week worth of The Week.

And because I'm in the running to win Curmudgeon Of The Week (scroll down until you get to the pertinent post), here's a photo of me, because my evil *insert numerous multilingual expletives of great magnitude and ferocity* dial-up sucks five pronged demon wangs, and won't let me attach things to emails.

Dentistry

I have a long and colourful history with my dentist, stemming from when she spent five unanaesthetised hours reimplanting my teeth into my damaged jaw, making caps to replace all the bits that snapped off, and then splinting the resulting mishmash of tooth, fibreglass and high calcium concrete together.

This was continued when she had to replace one of those caps earlier this year (on my birthday, if I may add) because it had been sealed incorrectly and was starting to have problems.

And I have a feeling it's going to be furthered because I'm getting a new tooth.

I first noticed it a few weeks ago when I realised I had a strange lump under my gum behind the back molar in quadrant 4. A few weeks later, there's a tooth starting to erupt.

I've had all my adult teeth since I was somewhere in the vicinity of age eleven. That means this tooth can only be one thing. A wisdom tooth.

I'm seventeen years old (technically seventeen years, one month and ten days, but who's quibbling). I AM WAY TOO YOUNG FOR WISDOM TEETH.

I am unimpressed. Jaw, way to fuck me over again.

Adela vs. Communist Machinery, Round 2

The chairman Mao clock is windup. I neglected to wind it yesterday after it woke me up (I'd wound it before going to sleep, I hadn't thought it necessary). When I went to sleep at 11.30 last night, I found it had stopped at 11.00

Tricky move, Chairman. Let's call this one a draw.

AngryAngryMurderEyes

I have water in my ear canal. I'm assuming it's left over from swimming. It's pissing me off.

Grrr.

Cookie Redemption

I've recently been bitching about my inability to make Biscotti.

I've finally worked out my problem: completely ignore what the cookbook says and just improvise. As it was, the previous times I'd failed I'd already replaced the almond meal with ground hazelnuts, the beaten eggs with superstrong coffee and added chocolate.

As it turns out what I was neglecting to do was apportion the batter at about 1/3 of the size I was instructed and double the cooking time.

At last success. The final score: Biscotti 2; Adela 1.

Not ideal, but at least I won the war.

Communism

When Mimi returned from China, she brought with her a windup Chairman Mao alarm clock, which she then gave to me. It's awesome. Mao's hand waves as the seconds tick. It is a truly awesome clock. The only issue is the alarm function.

I went swimming this morning, and so last night I set the alarm for 0510. This morning, the alarm went off... at 0445.

Score at the end of round 1: communism 1, sleep 0.

You win this round, chairman.

100 and a Blog Quiz

I was reading one of the blogs I follow and I decided to send in an application to be named Curmudgeon of the week.

This also allows me to do my 100th post in style.

Name: Adela (I've also been referred to as 'the doorbitch of Hades')

Age: 17

Provenance: Sydney, Australia

Occupation: Student

When did you first self-identify as a curmudgeon?
Last year, when as head of the school's student council, I told my counterpart at our brother school (all girls school - we have to collaborate) where he could shove it. That's also the moment I started being referred to as 'That evil psychotic bitch from St George' by some of the lovely (and I use that term loosely) boys from Sydney Tech.

Who’s the curmudgeon (living or dead, historical or contemporary) you most identify with and why?
Paul Keating. Anyone with that kind of vocabulary deserves to be deified.

What do you hate that other people inexplicably love?
Emoticons. They give me murder eyes. Instant messaging. Voicemail messages. Novelty ringtones (unless it's Verdi's Dies Irae).

You are Dante. What, in order from least to most excruciating, are your nine circles of hell?

I'm going to go one step further and do all the little facets of Dante's hell.

Vestibule: People who don't register to vote. Voting is a privilege. Use it.

Here we cross Acheron, the first of the five rivers in Hell. Charon, ferryman thereof, does Hades a favour here by weeding out the gullible (i.e. the people who pay him for their passage before they're on the other side). If you're gullible enough to fall for a ponzi scheme or any other type of fraud that turns up in your inbox, you deserved it.

1. Squealers. We all know at least one. Those people who erupt into ear-splittingly high-pitched squealing at the drop of a hat. Seriously, people. Curb your enthuasiasm. And take it down a few octaves.

And now into the realms of incontinence. Thanks Mr Alighieri. I couldn't have named it better myself.

2. Kitsch. Be afraid Hello Kitty. Be markedly afraid.

3. Popular music. If it has a drum beat created by a machine, it deserves to burn eternally. Also, if it's a boy who's waiting for his danglies to drop, he shouldn't be singing. Unless he's an a choir which only performs classical music. There's only one use for boy soprani: getting them to sing the castrato parts because the Catholic church outlawed castration.

4. Politicians (in democracies). They say that those who can't do, teach. Well, those who can't function in mainstream society as useful human beings go into politics. Even then...

5. Psychics, Astrologers and anyone else who works in the industry of flimflammery that is the 'supernatural'. Get a job.

The realms of incontinence are cut off at this point by the river Styx. Once we've crossed the Styx with its vile marsh choked with reeds (thanks Virgil), we enter the city of Dis.

6. Professional sports players who get injured and then whinge about it. I'm looking at you, soccer. Drink a cup of concrete and harden the fuck up.

In order to continue, we here cross Phlegethon, a river of FIRE!!!!!!!! I have to say that Pluto did a great job with the interior decorating.

7. Dictators. Let's face it, seizing control without an actual mandate from the masses (NB: the military don't count) just isn't very nice.

Here lies the Abyss. I'm assuming it's big, dark, possibly dank and empty inside. In other words it's a reality TV contestant.

The next 2 circles are the lands of fraud according to Dante. I suppose if you squint and tilt your head a little, my last two circles of hell could be interpreted to belong accordingly.

Circle 8, the Malebolge, is 'an ampitheatre-shaped pit of despair wholly of stone and of an iron colour' (Dante). Cheery place it is.

8. Plagiarisers. Interesting historical sidebar: counterfeiters are a kind of plagiariser. In medieval times, counterfeiters were punished by being boiled alive in hot oil. Guess what point I'm trying to get across...

There is then the Giants Well (reasonably self explanatory); followed by Tartarus. The ninth circle, reserved in my hell system for:

9. Genocide. The people who order it, the people who carry it out and the people who cover it up.

This is also where we find the river Cocytus, hateful with black slime and its sluggish flow... (Thanks again, Virgil)

If you had the power to sign into law an amendment prohibiting a specific human behavior (i.e. using a Bluetooth or singing karaoke), what would you outlaw? Protective sports gear. So you're playing a violent sport. Take it like a man and get on with it.

Let's lighten up. What makes you all warm and fuzzy inside? (Your heart can’t be COMPLETELY charred.)
Sleeping babies.

What's your favorite curse word/phrase?
Holy cock! (a marvellously versatile expletive)

Essay Question: Please write a 100 word open letter to an object, person, or other entity that has recently incurred your wrath.

I'll keep this one brief.

Germaine Greer:

Find something better to do with your time.

Also, eunuchs can't be female. There's paraphenalia lacking. It just doesn't work.

Piano Lessons and Typing

I had piano lessons when I was about five. The only thing about it that benefited me was the fact that I could read music at the end of it. I couldn't play for shit, that's for sure. I've had to teach myself on that front.

The only lasting effect (again, apart from the ability to read music) is the fact that these days, when I finish typing a sentence, I'll do that floaty hand thing pianists do.

It's kind of weird. I've also noticed that I use correct piano hand shape when I'm actually typing.

End result: I'm towards the lower reaches of mediochre with regard to playing piano, but I type with panache.

Also, thanks to YY's blog, I no longer have any desire to see Inception. I in fact have a valid excuse not to, which means my older sister isn't going to drag me along to another bloody Leonardo DiCaprio movie. Thank the heavens.

Five-Pronged Demon Wangs

I couldn't resist. This story must be told by me otherwise I'll be portrayed as some kind of crazy deviant or something.

For whatever reason, during the course of our study of Journeys, we got onto the topic of witchcraft. Or the legal system. Or something. I forget, but it was relevant.

I referenced a passage I had read in Sadakat Kadri's The Trial. (London, 2006), pp. 118-119.

There it is: Some of the most graphic details [of Sabbaths] came courtesy of an inquisitor called Pierre de Lancre, commissioned by King Henry IV in January 1609 to cleanse the Labourd region of southwestern France. De Lancre was a man of rivalrous temperament, and over the course of a four month investigation that saw him interview hundreds of suspects and send more than fifty of them to the stake, he rarely overlooked an opportunity to outdo the discoveries of his contemporaries. the sabbaths to which his suspects were involved attracted thousands of male and female witches, who danced the night away alongside smoke-wreathed wizards and gyrating lines of fauns, snakes, dragons and tigers. He agreed with other demonologists that Satan was especially likely to manifest himself as a billy-goat, but the goat that attended his sabbaths had up to five horns, including an illuminated one at the centre of its forehead. De Lancre also lost himself in pornographic reveries for paragraphs on end, although no demonologist lacked for libido, his tales of sodomitic beasts and women shared between men and demons are in a class of their own. He devoted particular attention to Satan's penis, and it is probably fair to say that he gleans more information on the topic that anyone else in history.

That is not to say that others lacked interest. As far back as 1521, Sylvester Prieirias had warned that Satan often appeared with a forked penis to double his debauchery or a triple-pronged one to maximise it [Robert E.L. Masters, Eros and Evil. The sexual psychopathy of witchcraft (Baltimore, 1974), p. 17.]. Nicolas Rémy noted that the diabolical organ could be as long as a kitchen utensil, 'even when only half in erection', and as thick as a spindle. Like several other demonologists, he also commented on the temperature of Satan's semen, so bitterly cold that women recoiled in shock upon receiving it [Nicolas Rémy, Demonolatry, tr. E. Allen Ashwin (London, 1930), pp.12-14].

Sixteen-year-old Jeanette d'Abadie, while trying to explain to de Lancre just how depressing and painful she had found her sexual experiences with the Devil, had told him that the organ in question was over a yard long, coiled like a snake, and covered in scales. Fifteen-year-old Marie de Marigrane had recalled it to be half-iron and half-flesh. Petry de Linarre got the impression that it was made of pure horn, which is why it made women scream so much. De Lancre's competitive instincts did not desert him even here. After reporting that a teenager called Marguerite had found the Devil to be hung like a mule, with an appendage as long and thick as an arm, he recalled that the demons found by Hebri Bouget in the Franche-Comté rarely had penises bigger than a finger. 'The witches of the Labourd,' mused de Lancre, 'are better served by Satan than those of the Franche-Comté.'

There. My remarks were taken out of context by my classmates. Never did I say the demon had a five-pronged penis. The fact that that certain version of events was the one recounted ad infinitum during Modern History merely goes to show that my classmates ought to listen harder when I reference medieval texts regarding witch burning.

Here's an easy way to remember it for future reference: French Satan = 5 horns + 3 penises.

The British Satan was utterly underwhelming in comparison.

Chemical Warfare

The odour of chlorine oozing from my pores is driving me slightly loopy.

Here's why: I've been swimming for a total of 4.5 hours this week, and I already smell like the pool.

I hate to think of what I'll smell like by the end of the month.

On the upside, 4.5 hours later and I'm pretty much back to the standard I was at in March when I stopped swimming for the winter (and because I cbf getting up in the mornings because I'd stay up mad late doing homework...but I digress). But again, that's not saying much. Because I suck numerous five-pronged demon wangs (talk to any of the people in my year 11 English class. That's the last time I bring up medieval texts on witchcraft.) at sprints.

Things I Am Not

As any of you who happened to be reading my blog around the time of Passover will know that I have issues getting back to my Eastern European culinary roots.

As it turns out, I also suck at making savory Italian biscuits. Namely the ones Toni always seems to have during French class and Sabrina always seems to be eating in French class.

Basically I found a recipe for them, and I thought 'why not give it a go?'

Bad Idea.

Basically, this had taught me that I will never be a good Eastern/Central European. Bubbe Sarah would be rolling in her grave. As would Tante Adela.

Why is it I have to come from a lineage of women who could make wheat free noodles without them tasting like glue?

Swimming

Today I went back to swim training in a desperate attempt to expedite the speed in which I get over jet lag.

Holy shrieking expletives it was painful.

In other news, I'm pretty much hooked on True Blood after watching the two episodes of it QANTAS happened to have on their entertainment database.

Tik Tok by AD€LA

I've got two more posts to do about America, but first I'd like to publish this spoof I wrote on the plane. It's to the tune of Tik Tok (as you can doubtlessly surmise from the title).

Wake up in the morning feeling like Paul Keating
(Hey what up, man)
Grab my briefcase, I’m out the door, I’ve got to go to some meetings
(Let’s go)
Before I leave, I grab my keys and a Canberra map
Cause when I win the election, I ain’t coming back

Italian leather all over my toes, toes
Professionals tailor all of my clothes, clothes
Talk to the press on my iPhones, phones
Photo-opping, kissing lots of babies
Backed up by my party
The opposition wish they were me…

On top of the polls
Because I have castiron balls
Alright, I’mma fight
Up until election night
Tick tock on the clock
‘Till the caucus room is locked
For vo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ting

Ain’t got a care in the world except for immigration
Not a problem ‘cause I’m saved by the psyche of the nation
The conservatives think that refugees aren’t all good
And Australia's fine with sticking them in Villawood

I’m talking about neutralising threats, threats
Creating budget safety nets, nets
Choosing portfolios for my political pets…
Better known as my front benchers
Most of them need to wear dentures
The front bench all need dentures
Front bench need dent…

On top of the polls
Because I have castiron balls
Alright, I’mma fight
Up until election night
Tick tock on the clock
‘Till the caucus room is locked
For vo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ting

For what it’s worth
The Lodge’s my turf
And the voters
Yeah, they love me

With well placed ads
Pandering to fads
Got a Twitter page
Yeah they love me

For what it’s worth
The Lodge’s my turf
And the voters
Yeah, they love me

With well placed ads
Pandering to fads
Pandering to fads

Now, the polling don’t start ‘till I walk in

On top of the polls
Because I have castiron balls
Alright, I’mma fight
Up until election night
Tick tock on the clock
‘Till the caucus room is locked
For vo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ting

On top of the polls
Because I have castiron balls
Alright, I’mma fight
Up until election night
Tick tock on the clock
‘Till the caucus room is locked
For vo-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ting

I'll get around to making a video of it eventually.

Yippee Hooray

You know when a guy is glancing around a room, his eyes pass over you and then a moment later he jerks his head back to look at you?

Totally just happened to me. I need to wear dresses and heels more often.

Today

Was filled with the drudgery of manual labour.

I began by helping out with sign in at the conference, between the hours of 8 and 11, at which point there was community service day. Whilst doing sign in, I had some lovely conversation with the kids from University of Nebraska, Lincoln.

At community service day, where we were divided randomly into groups and then sent to go de-weed the terraces along the guadeloupe river (A few miles thereof. Good thing there was a lot of us). I bonded with a bunch of students from Great Valley State University - one of the largest universities in eastern Michigan (that's said in a tongue in cheek manner, just to clarify). At the end of the two hours of pulling up really fierce weeds and hacking at stumps with hoes (don't even bother, we made just about every joke imaginable), after taking the group photos of the GVSU kids, I was asked if I was old enough to go get a beer with them (They knew I was in high school, but not that I was seventeen). I had to reply in the negative, because they're bitches about carding here in Cali.

Incidentally, before we started the community service, they showed us a slideshow outlining wha tthe different tools were. Because apparently some people don't know what rakes, shovels and hoes are. Hoes perhaps is understandable, but who not only cannot recognise a shovel but also does not know its function? Seriously.

There was an accounting careers fair at 4.30 in the afternoon. The dress was 'office casual', so I wore nice jeans, a white blouse... and my sparkly red heels. Because I'd brought them on the offchance they'd come in handy, and so they did.

So today has been a great success. I was invited out for beer by a bunch of college students, and as I walking back to the elevator after the accounting fair, a male student with a deeply southern accent enquired 'How're you doin'?'

This is not an isolated event. I've been spending a hell of a lot of time responding to when good looking southern boys (I swear, all the southern boys seem to be good looking) enquire as to my welfare. Heavens, their accents are adorable.

Australiana

Today was like Australia-fest for me.

For two reasons.

One: I found a store selling solely Australian goods. It was strange. There were things like 2L Cottees cordial for $13.50 USD. Tim Tams for $9.

Black and Gold brand Musk sticks...for $5.50

It was expensive up the shizzay.

Two: Mum decided we would have Indian for dinner. In the restaurant (well it called itself a bistro, but whatevvs) there was a television, showing a program called 'Australia: land beyond time'. It had every Australian nature cliché imaginable.

DI people (latin joke there), this is California. Find something else to consumerise.

Fruit

As anyone who has cooked anything dessertlike from an American cookbook will realise, they all seem to involve raspberries or blueberries or other heinously expensive fruit.

That's because here, it's all cheap as.

1 kg of blueberries for $5. 1 kg cherries for $5. 2 kg strawberries for $8. It's insane.

The Wonders of Consumerism

As I've been going about my merry way, I've just been jotting down random stuff that I find interesting.

Pay by weight frozen yoghourt: this is in all the food courts of supermarkets and also in standalone stores. You get a cup, and fill it with frozen yoghurt of whatever flavour you desire (there are about 20), you then weight your cup, the cup weight is subtracted to give the net weight of your yoghurt, and then you pay by the weight.

Smirnoff Savannah Tea: I saw an ad for this on a billboard. It's iced tea with lemon...with vodka. I don't see why they can't just do it themselves.

Speaking of which - Alcohol licencing: in any regular supermarket in america, there will be a liquor aisle. Not in a separate shop. In the supermarket, right next to the dried fruit and baked goods. And it's significantly cheaper than Aus.

Costco: A warehouse superstore which sells anything and everything. Some of the marvels I came across instore were...
60 inch flatscreen LCD, LED backlit televisions. $2999 (plus another 10% tax. Their GST isn't included in pricing. It means everything is about 10% more expensive than it seems.
Tea bags. In 300 packs.
5 gum: we get it in 12 sticks per pack. They have it in 10 packs of 15 sticks in cooler flavours than we have yet.
Makeup: 2 mascaras for $10.
Petrol: Costco sells ULP for $3.00 per GALLON. That's 75c per litre. Even non-costco petrol only costs about $3.25 for premium. And they complain that their petrol is expensive.

They've All Gone To Look For America

Takeoff was somewhat delayed due to some people who were transferring flights.

Whilst walking to the gate, it had seemed we would be travelling on one of Qantas' new A380s. But then we kept walking and saw that that plane was for QF11 to LA. QF73 to San Fransisco (my flight) was on one of those faintly old and incredibly cramped Boeing 747-400s. And it was completely full.

Taking up a reasonable chunk of Economy was (and someone had better tell Koby about this) the Sydney baseball team for the U25ish age group.

The inflight movie selection was underwhelming. I watched How To Train Your Dragon, which was fantastic, and Wog Boys 2, which was rather funny thanks to my wog roots; but they were about it.

The plane took off at 1400 EST, and by about 2130 EST, I was completely exhausted. So I had a nap, only to be awoken at about 0030 EST for breakfast. Strangely, I was quite awake regardless of the fact that I'd only had 3h sleep.

We arrived at 0300 EST [wednesday] or 1000 WST [tuesday] (NB: from now on, all times will be in Western Standard), spent a very long time in customs (and it would have been longer had I not used my Canadian citizenship, and mum her Canadian Landed Immigrant status), and eventually got onto the BART train station at the airport (Bay Area Rapid Transport - they didn't just nickname it).

The trains were lovely. One level, well set out, spacious, well ventillated and a hell of a lot more fast than Cityrail. They were powered by an electrified 3rd rail. This becomes relevant later.

From SFO, we caught a red line train to San Bruno, followed by a yellow line train to Millbrae, at which point we tranferred to Caltrain to get to San Jose/Diridon.

I'd like to comment on the design of the train stations. A fusion of Brutalism and dingy neo-classical Cityrail.

And as for the Caltrains... Giant double decker diesel drawn (sorry, I had to keep going once I'd started) behemoths which (and it may have just been that car) smell of ammonia. Ick. Ickickickickick. The countryside is however quite pretty. Very Californian.

And everyhting here is huge. The stores, the roads, the schools, which all have aroung 3-4k students. The schools here are purty.

I wrote that at 1155 and I was still quite awake. Mum, on the other hand, who only slept during the last hour of the flight was failing miserably to stay awake.

The rest of the day was spent going through giant shopping centres. There was a Westfield, and all I can say is the Australian ones are set out better.

That's it for today. Or perhaps not. Who knows. Tata all.

I Go To Be In America

Just like a Sondheim [and Bernstein] song that seems adorable and catchy the first few times you hear it, and after that becomes the bane of your existence because it's permanently entrenched in your head on a neverending loop... I'm going to the US tomorrow.

Don't ask how the extended metaphor relates. I don't even know.

But yeah. I'll be in San Jose CA for a week. Tagging along to a conference for some international organisation of...wait for it...commerce students.

At least I get to go (thankyou frequent flier system).

So yeah. I may or may not be able to access the internet during the next week, but I will be jotting down anything remarkable that happens and I'll post it eventually. Who knows. I might even get enough material to do The Week: US Edition.

But somehow I doubt it.

At least I have Cicero, Virgil, Catullus and Horace to keep me company.