As long as I'm feeling sorry for myself . . .
I received such an outpouring of sympathy yesterday, I feel I ought to go fishing for more of the same today, so I'll open this entry with an intervening comment by my friend 'Sperwer' over at the Marmot's Hole:
Globalization anyone? I'm now sipping the local hootch sitting in a French hotel, managed by an American company, that is perched in the mountains overlooking the junction of the Mekong and Ruak rivers and the borders of Thailand, Myanmar and Laos. The staff comprises peeople from 5 different hill tribes and some down river Thais. The menu has dishes from Thailand, Southwestern China, France, Italy and Japan, all expertly prepared by local sous-chefs under the supervision of a French owner of three Michelin stars. Entertainment during lunch was provided by a three piece band -- guitar, bass and banjo -- played by Thais in check shirts, jeans, straw cowboy hats and shitkickers, who expertly played a mixture of American hillbilly country music that would have made Gypsy Scholar nostalgic for Arkansas and adaptations of local music -- interestingly the banjo is the perfect western analogue of the gamelan. 40 years ago, you might imagine something like this if you didn't have your mind fixated on something else -- after ingesting a significant quantity of the local opium, assuming you lived long enough to score some. I'm going swimming now.I know little more than Sperwer about that hallucinogenic local crop. All I require to reach seventh heaven is a Mason jar of moonshine and that aforementioned hillbilly music . . . though the hillbilly allusion incidentally reminds me that my cantankerous Ozark character has often acted as the brake on my career -- better than careering out of control, I suppose, which does happen to some. But anyway, since 'Sperwer' mentioned my online persona over at the Marmot's Hole, I figured I ought to offer a comment:
Sperwer, I wish I could show up and hear that hillbilly music . . . but somebody's always gotta pay the fiddler. I'm up to my ears in student homework, proposals, essays, and bibliographies.And that goes for all you readers as well. You'uns go on and have a good time. I'll pay the fiddler for this here barn dance, so drink that hootch and enjoy the hootenanny.
And to think, I spent all those years working on Coptic, Greek, and Hebrew when I could have just been getting a TESOL degree and working for the same salary!
I guess I'm still paying the fiddler for all those years of following my own interests . . .
But all the same, you have a good time.
Oh, and I hope that one and all reading today's entry know the crucial idiomatic distinction between "'little more" and "a little more" . . .