Things will likely be quiet ’round the old blog for the next week, for I am now in Siena, Italy, in order to give a paper on the awesomeness of my blog to the New Chaucer Society. Weep not, for they do appear to have the Internets here in Italy, so I will not be entirely absent.
My amazing luck at session times continues to hold, if you were wondering. The talk will be early Sunday morning, when most of the New Chaucerians are sleeping off the excesses of vino-fueled Saturday nights. But at least JJC, JJ, and Stephanie Trigg* will be there, and the four of us will no doubt trade many quips and fine japes that one may only appreciate when one is a world-famous medieval blogger.
Those of you with clocks and an awareness of timezones and timestamps might note that it is late here. I am at liberty to confirm that I am indeed quite jetlagged. For one in my state, there’s hardly no day and there’s hardly no night, just alternating periods of squinting against the sun while yawning and quoting Marry Poppins by the light of my bedside table. But my hotel has kindly provided some individually-packaged sugar cookies, so all is well.
But still I wonder: how did we ever deal with jetlag before the Internets sprung fully formed from Al Gore’s forehead?** How did we bear the weight of sleeplessness without the succor of the Swedish Chef delivered to our handheld video devices?
*Whose name resists all my attempts at initializing. For now.
**Or did the Internets arise from the foam that gathered near the remnant when Al Gore was castrated by his own son? I cannot keep my mythology straight even without the jetlag.