| thoughts from a cunning linguist | |
...to bed, that is. It's been a marathon marking day, folks. I revved myself up with my version of "Gentlemen start your engines, this morning" (i.e. "Bush Whacker, uncap that green pen!) and haven't stopped since. (Yes, sometimes a pen really is just a pen.)
I did answer the odd e-mail between essays. And I cackled with Maurice for a minute about how he and Poupoune compiled The Bush Whacker soundtrack. I even ate some food--turkey leftovers supplied by the She-Woman.
But I have not seen the outside world today. April 21, 2003 has been "the day of the poorly printed word," replete with many typos, sentence fragments, and paragraphs that could not decide whether they exist in the present, past or future tense. And for my viewing delight, one student even supplied me with a plagiarism case to investigate.
With such excitement, why would I ever need to leave my house?
Posted by Bush Whacker at April 21, 2003 11:33 PMPôvre, pôvre BW. Did you sleep well?
Posted by: Poupoune on April 22, 2003 12:33 PMWell, but never long enough. And today, my brother and his girlfriend come to visit.
A Bush Whacker's work is never done. It's pretty bad when there's not even enough time for bush whacking itself.
Posted by: Bush Whacker on April 22, 2003 03:38 PM