the weekend of hero-worship, as it were
Sep. 26th, 2005 09:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
timerippleBut before I start on that, I'd just like to say that it appears that I sort of don’t suck at dissecting sharks. In fact, once somebody showed me how to start the dissection I was actually kind of, um… good at it. *pleased*
Friday, September 23
Five of us drove into Cambridge for the Neil Gaiman event. Five solid hours of utter geekiness! (Well, except for the fifteen or so minutes during which we went to find food.) I did get to tell him that I’d loved Sandman so much on my first reading that I convinced my professors to let me write a 20-page final paper on it. He looked amused, in an exhausted sort of way, and actually shook my hand! All those dubious looks from said professors and consequences thereof are as nothing to my utter happiness.
It is probably fortunate, in hindsight, that I did not also at that point hand him a bottle of Vitamin D and a vacation voucher to someplace sunny.
Saturday, September 24
Spent the morning being geeky with Kate, who crashed on my floor the previous evening. A very little bit of the euphoria of the signing faded when I realized that attending the Dante conference would probably be pointless, as I have read practically no Dante. Few things dampen one’s spirits more than feeling uneducated at Wellesley. Alas, I felt it less than I probably should, because while the Fiddleheads party was a little flat, it was fun.
Two hours and a state line later saw five of us at the Boston Urban Ceilidh at the New Hampshire Highland Games Fiddle Village. WHEE! We parked our fiddles in the hall and went to investigate the Merrimack Assembly, which was finishing up in a stately Scottish country dance fashion. Then a whispered announcement sent us flying down the road to retrieve our fiddles and back again, and a whole crowd of young folk busted through the doors and lit into the Boston Urban Ceilidh tune. We headed back down the road still playing madly, until we realized that nobody was following, at which point we slowed down and sort of strolled the rest of the way. But there was a party of special magnificence the minute we stepped inside the rec center. What else do you call a band featuring the one, the only, the superb Alasdair Fraser? It was most totally wicked awesome fun. I danced quite a lot, tried not to get too distracted by my clandestine hero-worshipping, and learned that the Gay Gordons is a lot easier if one is dancing the man’s part. Lots of people from Boston Harbor were there, and I think I can safely say the Wellesley contingent represented with spirit.
Got back at 2:30 am. Spent the next morning dreaming strange dreams, the afternoon procrastinating by reading Bio, then somehow translated more Lysias in two hours than in all of last week.
Friday, September 23
Five of us drove into Cambridge for the Neil Gaiman event. Five solid hours of utter geekiness! (Well, except for the fifteen or so minutes during which we went to find food.) I did get to tell him that I’d loved Sandman so much on my first reading that I convinced my professors to let me write a 20-page final paper on it. He looked amused, in an exhausted sort of way, and actually shook my hand! All those dubious looks from said professors and consequences thereof are as nothing to my utter happiness.
It is probably fortunate, in hindsight, that I did not also at that point hand him a bottle of Vitamin D and a vacation voucher to someplace sunny.
Saturday, September 24
Spent the morning being geeky with Kate, who crashed on my floor the previous evening. A very little bit of the euphoria of the signing faded when I realized that attending the Dante conference would probably be pointless, as I have read practically no Dante. Few things dampen one’s spirits more than feeling uneducated at Wellesley. Alas, I felt it less than I probably should, because while the Fiddleheads party was a little flat, it was fun.
Two hours and a state line later saw five of us at the Boston Urban Ceilidh at the New Hampshire Highland Games Fiddle Village. WHEE! We parked our fiddles in the hall and went to investigate the Merrimack Assembly, which was finishing up in a stately Scottish country dance fashion. Then a whispered announcement sent us flying down the road to retrieve our fiddles and back again, and a whole crowd of young folk busted through the doors and lit into the Boston Urban Ceilidh tune. We headed back down the road still playing madly, until we realized that nobody was following, at which point we slowed down and sort of strolled the rest of the way. But there was a party of special magnificence the minute we stepped inside the rec center. What else do you call a band featuring the one, the only, the superb Alasdair Fraser? It was most totally wicked awesome fun. I danced quite a lot, tried not to get too distracted by my clandestine hero-worshipping, and learned that the Gay Gordons is a lot easier if one is dancing the man’s part. Lots of people from Boston Harbor were there, and I think I can safely say the Wellesley contingent represented with spirit.
Got back at 2:30 am. Spent the next morning dreaming strange dreams, the afternoon procrastinating by reading Bio, then somehow translated more Lysias in two hours than in all of last week.
