I wasn't there, I know nothing.

Meg Lasswell writes about comics sometimes. She'll also be your friend, if you bring her coffee.











 

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People I know say the darndest things

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Dude, not my fault
 

Tuesday, February 03, 2004

Man, I should not have gone for the real coffee. I was sickly for a long time (like, since summer) with digestive troubles (I'll be nice and not elaborate) and just found out recently that it was all caffeine's fault. So I've been drinking decaf. But tonight, I was all "I'm grouchy and I want real coffee" and now I'm regretting it. Should've known better, oh well.

So, let's talk about Pliny. Pliny the Younger, that is. We're reading his letters in Latin class, you see. Latin prose is generally not my thing, probably because I studied too much poetry in my impressionable youth, but I like Pliny. I just finished reading a letter he wrote about his uncle, Pliny the Elder -- you know, the one who died at Pompeii, because he just had to get a closer look at Vesuvius. Little Pliny's letter really gives one an idea of the man who would do such a thing. He wrote some hundred-odd books entirely between the ages of 40 and 60, says his nephew, meanwhile serving a public office and hanging out with Vespasian. It's inspiring, really.

Younger Pliny is a much more accesible author than Cicero or some of those other stodgy bastards; maybe that's why he's considered a lesser writer by scholars. Poo on them.

can I spend all my time at Starbucks, please?
 
 
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