Tuesday night, watching Idol.

*cough*Like the rest of our obese, Philistine country*cough*

Some kid with dreads just sang “Memory”.

Judge: I don’t know, I think we’re so used to hearing that song as a female power ballad

Mom: No we’re not! I’m used to hearing Barry sing it!!!

Dad: Well, that is kind of a female power ballad.



I can feel the acid reflux coming…

…almost time to register for classes, and yeah, remember last time? *headdesk*

So I had a perfect lovely little schedule figured out, but then Russian despotism was pulled, and the professor who was supposed to teach my iconoclasm class isn’t, and since the the art history department is kind of 50/50, I’m not signing up for a class without knowing who’s teaching it.

So, much gnawing at my fingernails later, I have a new lovely schedule planned, which includes civil strife in Northern Ireland, British imperialism, global 20th century, African art (boo!!! Poor form, but the only other 300-level that fits), Jewish civ, the Biblical years (kind of like a band), and CONSTITUTIONAL LAW HELL YEAH.


They had all better still be open, because I can so not go through this again.

Also I’m getting a Celtic studies certificate. Just because.

Saturday Night, writing endnotes and watching the Pope.

I did actually go out for dinner with a friend earlier, and had to turn down another invitation, so it doesn’t make me suck quite as much as I normally would for writing a paper on a Saturday night.

Anyhoodles, the Pope did a Youth and Seminarians thing today, and my God, those priests are BABIES. Seriously. They look like they’re about my age.

Which means two things. I’m getting old, and the Church is probably in trouble because I don’t want to think about ANYONE my age being in charge of anyone’s spiritual development.

No, I kid. They all looked happy and devoted, etc. There was one who was making funny faces at the camera, and looked like every single guy I know.

(Physically he looked just like Derrick, which made me laugh a little because somehow I don’t ever picture Derrick in the clergy.)

It’s too bad that Milwaukee doesn’t have that many young seminarians, because I really think that if people could see how young people and truly devote their lives to God (not in a cloying way, like with chastity pleges-*barf*) it would strengthen the Church.


I don’t have a lot of regrets about anything in my life, and I am especially pleased with the way my education has turned out so far.

But Imladris picked up her cap and gown for graduation today, and despite her protests that she “looked like Antonin Scalia!!!”, she looked adorable. And it made me realize that I never got one of those, and I kind of wish I had.

Welcome to self-flagellation with Kathleen…

I had a test this morning.

A wonderful test for which I was beautifully prepared, had read all seven hundred pages of both textbooks, could recite names, dates, and percentages. Hitler himself would have been pleased by the way I could chronicle his demise.

I even called every single essay question. At the beginning of the semester the professor said that once we’d taken a test or two from him, we’d not only have the form down but even be able to figure out what the essays were going to be on. And I thought, “Pssh, that’s stupid. We talk about tons of stuff, and there are only three questions on the test. How the hell could we ever guess that?” But I was wrong, because I knew that there were going to be little questions on the suffragette movement and the art and literature of Victorian England, and I was damn sure that WWII was going to be the big essay. And it totally was.

So I wrote two beautiful essays on art and literature and the suffragette movement that would have made Emily Davison feel as though she died for something important. Emily Bronte would have cried. Things were good.

And then…I ran out of time. I left myself FORTY MINUTES for the final essay, because I knew that I didn’t want to rush. And I don’t know what happened, but at 9:07 (class ended at 9:15), I was only on 1941, and Hitler hadn’t even invaded Russia yet. And then I flipped out and said a really bad word in my head the rest of my essay? Was total crap. Hasty sentences, scrawled penmanship, the part about the book that I totally read this time was like six words, D-Day was reduced to a footnote, and the Holocaust? Quite possibly the most disgusting prolonged incident in human history in which a megalomaniac wiped out two out of every three Jews in Europe for no reason at all? Was a sentence.

And it’s not that I’m that upset about the grade, because I’ve gotten A’s on the other tests and could pretty much not show up for this one, the first part of the test and the first half of my final essay were wicked good so I know I’ll get most of those points, and anyone could tell that I, and most of the other students, were running out of time.

It’s more that I’m frustrated at myself, because I’m so much smarter than that last essay makes me seem! I know everything about WWII. I know numbers, I know percentages, I know how many freaking units the Germans had at Normandy as opposed to the Americans. I have quotes (“Never before have so many owed so much to so few,” Churchill, about the RAF pilots during the Battle of Britain). I know that if I had had an extra twenty minutes, that would have been one of the better essays I’ve ever written, and it wasn’t, and that pisses me off.

And while I’m not expecting anything horrible like a B, but unless the professor is drunk or something while grading it, I’m not getting another 100. Which sucks.


The Return of the Pop Stand

I got three whole comments on Facebook, so I’m amending my post on Monday to include the following:

Even if I let Derrick guilt me into law school, spend a hundred thousand dollars on a degree that I don’t want, spend three years of my life holed up in a study going over minute points and occaisonally throwing casebooks at his sweet little head (Oh, sweetie, you’d better believe I’m making you sit with me, and let’s face it, we’ll probably be living together anyways, as I don’t generally like people but not you! I like you!) to become a lawyer and never see sunlight again and wear pantyhose all year long and develop and ulcer and have to stop wearing contact lenses (it happened to my mom, it can happen to me) and finally live up to my family legacy and have a breakdown, only to spend a few years on thorazine before becoming legal counsel for Derrick’s brand new nation with a fabulous new White House color, which would kind of negate it being white, and then become a sociopath with cats, it’s okay.

Still better than this.

In legal news, SCOTUS handed down a lethal injection decision today. And I am NOT amused. It is indeed a rare thing when I am in agreement with Ginsburg and Souter.

Seriously? 7-2? I read the transcript, and it totally sounded like it was going the other way. I know it’s a conservative court, but it’s also stacked with Catholics, who apparently DON’T LET MURDER BOTHER THEM. And the Pope’s even in town! You could have thrown him a token decision.

Oh, boys, you screwed up this time. Perhaps a favorable gun control verdict could redeem you.

Or maybe I’ll just wait for Boston Legal next week.

Historical Bitches



The first three are kind of the same, but whatever.

1.) Please, Powerful General Commander People, do not attempt beach landings when your enemy is sitting on the top of the hill with machetes/bows and arrows/fireballs/machine guns/pick a historically appropriate weapon waiting to pick off your stupid soldiers and laugh and then break for lunch. Because it? WILL NOT WORK. My God, I am sick of reading about this. Some Napoleonic battle, Gallipoli, Dunkirk, and D-Day (okay, that one worked out, but only because Hitler sleeps late and is a meglomaniac and it was dicey there for awhile, have you never seen Saving Private Ryan???), and that’s just within a hundred years!!! So from now on, if you are stupid enough to pick the worst possible landing area to go bounding out from your nice safe ships, you deserve to die. That is all.

2.) Similarly, stop planning cross-channnel invasions of England. It will not work. It has worked once. In 1066, when the inhabitants were barbaric and the Normans were, well, the Normans. IN 1066. A thousand years ago. If Napoleon couldn’t do it, you can’t either, mmkay, pumpkin???

3.) Why do people repeatedly try to invade Russia during the winter? YOU WILL DIE. It seems like everyone runs through the western part, raping and pillaging and etcetera, and then the stop outside Moscow around October and, I don’t know, preen or something so that they look pretty when they leap into the capital, and then winter comes and THEY ALL DIE. If I was ever to try to invade Russia, I’d leave a couple of months early, but I guess that’s just me.

4.) Why are there no books about WWI or Irleand? I was “working” on Sunday, and WWI has one shelf, and Ireland has like seven books and most of them I’ve read, a couple of them are by Frank McCourt (blergh), and then there’s one that I can’t afford but want really badly. Anyhoodles. Where are the David McCulloughs and Joseph Ellis’ of Irish history? Is it too much to ask that Alison Weir hop the Irish sea and write a fun tome about the Easter Rising? I think not.


6.) The Spanish Inquistion? Was completely our fault, and not even a lofty goal of redeeming the unsaved, unwashed masses but at it’s zenith rather a power-hungry grab for control of Europe.

7.) I don’t care that the Japanese “started it”. Internment camps were still wrong.

8.) We should not begin interring Muslims.

9.) Apologizing to Galileo was ridiculous.

10.) Apologizing to the second-generation citizens who looked differently from us but were put into concentration camps is not ridiculous.

-Slightly Less Historical, but Bitches Nonetheless-

11.) I don’t like my presidential candidates. I would like new ones, please.

12.) Now that Michael Johns, my reason for living watching, is off of Idol, I have nothing to watch tonight until nine. And don’t give me any crap about how an Australian shouldn’t win American Idol, because hell, I’d vote for him for PRESIDENT. (See above.) Frankly, nationalism is a dangerous thing and I think it is about damn time we get someone with a cute accent in there.