I wish that I could manage to write with music on. It seems like it would be so nice to write while listening to some thematically relevant jams, but whenever I try the words from the music get mixed up with the words that I'm thinking and everything gets all lyrical and muddled. I sometimes can't even think too well with music on, to the point that I have to turn my radio (perpetually set to a loud and jangly classic rock station) while driving my car if I am having serious thoughts. I suppose that it's a dramatic exaggeration to say that I can't write with any music on; as long as the music has no words, or in the case that those words aren't in English or very slow phonetically pronounced Spanish, I'm fine. The trouble is finding thematically relevant jams that meet that standard of inscrutability.
I meant to post yesterday because I was feeling very nervous about certain maladies, and I felt that a good ramble would be a suitable remedy but because I got busy at work I had to postpone this venture. I was planning on talking about people that are totally mega-spazzy on the medieval times, because I had been reading this blog by a medievalist, and it suddenly occurred to me that I have read many (perhaps at least two) blogs by medievalist in my time scamming about on the interweb.
This realization combined with several factors. Firstly, I'm a retired scifi enthusiast, and I have a keen knowledge of "Ren Faire" culture. Secondly I had read several--admittedly early modern--Swift poems that morning and was considering 18th century cleanliness ("When he beheld and smelt the towels/ Begummed, bemattered, and beslimed/ With dirt, and sweat, and earwax grimed"). This sort of vivid imagery clashes with the general corset-heavy medieval conception and created for me a general state of unrest. People: the medieval times were not romantic, they were pretty damn icky.
I know what you think, I saw the Paul Walker classic Timeline too. We'd all like to think that if we were charming archaeologists sucked backward in time that we'd fall in love with a French heiress/revoluntioneer and be awesome at sword fighting and use our "magic" boom boxes to subdue the friendly (if misguided) natives. You, me, and a giant turkey leg in 1344.
However, on further contemplation, I have decided that it might not be quite so pleasant as all that. (And not just because I visited France over the summer and saw a dead homeless guy, though that is a factor). The medieval times were rife with plagues, various household molds, and plenty of people pissing on tapestries. I'm none too sanitary a person myself (currently I'm sporting jeans besmeared with Flaming Hot Cheeto dust and a rip in the crotchal region for the second day in a row), but even I'm baffled by the medieval concept of toiletries, which I assume is a crucifix and a few leeches.
Oh-- consider this my first aborted blog. I've got to go off and eat, so my rant is arrested here.
I meant to post yesterday because I was feeling very nervous about certain maladies, and I felt that a good ramble would be a suitable remedy but because I got busy at work I had to postpone this venture. I was planning on talking about people that are totally mega-spazzy on the medieval times, because I had been reading this blog by a medievalist, and it suddenly occurred to me that I have read many (perhaps at least two) blogs by medievalist in my time scamming about on the interweb.
This realization combined with several factors. Firstly, I'm a retired scifi enthusiast, and I have a keen knowledge of "Ren Faire" culture. Secondly I had read several--admittedly early modern--Swift poems that morning and was considering 18th century cleanliness ("When he beheld and smelt the towels/ Begummed, bemattered, and beslimed/ With dirt, and sweat, and earwax grimed"). This sort of vivid imagery clashes with the general corset-heavy medieval conception and created for me a general state of unrest. People: the medieval times were not romantic, they were pretty damn icky.
I know what you think, I saw the Paul Walker classic Timeline too. We'd all like to think that if we were charming archaeologists sucked backward in time that we'd fall in love with a French heiress/revoluntioneer and be awesome at sword fighting and use our "magic" boom boxes to subdue the friendly (if misguided) natives. You, me, and a giant turkey leg in 1344.
However, on further contemplation, I have decided that it might not be quite so pleasant as all that. (And not just because I visited France over the summer and saw a dead homeless guy, though that is a factor). The medieval times were rife with plagues, various household molds, and plenty of people pissing on tapestries. I'm none too sanitary a person myself (currently I'm sporting jeans besmeared with Flaming Hot Cheeto dust and a rip in the crotchal region for the second day in a row), but even I'm baffled by the medieval concept of toiletries, which I assume is a crucifix and a few leeches.
Oh-- consider this my first aborted blog. I've got to go off and eat, so my rant is arrested here.
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