The Megan Show Goes Global!

Conquered Belgium! Owned Dublin! Took over Europe! Why the super-colonial language, Meg? It must be all of that 18th-Century literature I'm choking down for my TA class. I just got back from my transatlantic jaunt, and am finally over jet lag and back-to-reality blues (which didn't last long, because I've got a pretty killer reality going on here). On my final day in Leuven, before leaving for Dublin, the organizers of the conference I was attending took us on a tour of the city, which was very impressive! Lots of oldness! The above picture is taken in the courtyard of what used to be a very cloistered residence for female students of the university, who were closely watched by a band of fierce nuns (or so my imagination has styled them), and who were absolutely forbidden from any kind of socializing with men. Naturally, a potent mix of romantic helplessness and gallant misadventure on the part of university men ensued! Apparently one guy managed to get himself a priest's robe and bluffed his way into the women's residence on a dare. He was discovered and expelled, and thus became a legendary hero! Lucky thing. Around the boundary of the women's residence is a tall fence, and just outside the fence is a massive old tree, which these yearning young men named the Tree of Sorrow, because some of its branches reached over the women's side of the fence, which reminded them of their own unfair banishment. Oh, the pathos! This story inspired a passionate speech from our tour guide, lamenting the crassness and lack of mystery between young men and women in today's world - which was funny because as she spoke I noticed one of the guys on the tour slip his hand into the butt-pocket of the girl next to him. How crass!

Leuven itself is a city full of amusing contraditions. Behold, in all its Gothic glory, the city hall:


And just in front, in all of its glory... giant blue paper-maché dog?


Alluring and artistic, if slightly anorexic:


... vs. beetle impaled on a giant sewing needle?!

Dublin had its own variety of amusement. Like this sign! Whatever you do, don't look down or you'll sink! Jesus, this one's for you...


Donut?

As far as culinary experience goes, I give it to you in brief:
Belgium in a word = chocolate (the rumours are true!)
Ireland in a word = Guinness (though not quite a Megan-favourite...)


Now that I'm back, I'm joining the resounding chorus of "is it seriously November already???" Yes, resounding chorus, yes it is. I can't believe that school will be done in four weeks! I feel like I'm in one of those animated movie montages where the pages of a calendar are flying off the wall and the seasons outside a window are whipping through summer, fall, winter. Anticipated emotional reaction to the end of this semester: relief at being done with TAing for a while (too much 18th-C satire for me), triumph at having read (and somewhat understood) Ulysses, indifference to being done my workshop class (though next week Miriam Teows is going to be visiting, which is admittedly pretty cool. I can't wait to ask her about slaughtering chickens!), nervous excitement about getting reacquainted with my half-finished thesis (we've become strangers these last months), and intermittent bouts of anxiety at being one semester closer to having to make up my mind about next year. ANNND of course, excitement about Christmas in Bronwyn and Adam's new digs! For the first time in a while I will sleep in a bed on Christmas Eve (instead of on a basement couch - though that had its own brand of romanticism), and B has already staked out a spot for the Christmas tree in their mansion of a house. Mansion! (At least by Findlay/Brock/Hancock standards.) The Montreal Santa Claus Parade is on Nov. 17th and I've already pressured at least one person into going with me! Thanks, V! I wish I knew some little kids in Montreal who I could take along. Maybe I should put an ad in the personals: Mommy-wannabe grad student seeks 3-10 yr. old escort to Santa Claus Parade. Would that be a weird thing to do?

Non-sequitor photo op: