Scooters, Wine, and Soccer

There are three examples given to me as I write this by the automatic systems of Die Blogspotte. They are, of course, individually suited, custom-created, tailor-made for my discriminating taste in post labels. They are: scooters, vacation, fall.

What the Hell do these people/machines/interns think I'm going to be writing about? I don't own a scooter, I have neither the time nor the money for a vacation, and fall is fast becoming winter. The suppliers of these so-called labels are clearly not readers of this blog. So much the worse for them, the pilsner-chugging skanks.

There, I've said it, it's out, I feel much better.

We have, here in Durham's hallowed halls, a standard two-supervisor team for our doctoral efforts. It is their job to guide, to mold, to waterboard and then revive us--sometimes we have tea. It is a strange mix of grandfatherly advice and stepfatherly abuse. Well, no. Not my supervisors.

Prof. Louth is marvellous, though very quiet and retiring. This means that criticism must be dragged still screaming from his shaggy breast. Well, actually, I have no idea if his breast is shaggy and I have no intention of finding out. But he does still need a Homeric epithet, a sobriquet worthy of his stature as scholar and priest and, in the words of one student, a truly 'intimidating oenophile.' For those of you who, like me, have no idea whatsoever what oenophile means, you can check http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oenophilia.

Dr. Song is quite different but also impressive. I had my first meeting with him yesterday, at 3pm, on a Friday, after having spent five hours slamming through something called Biblical Perspectives on Death. I was not in top form. But we had a nice conversation anyway--the cultured ethicist with a specialty in bioethics and the ill-read patristic theologian-wannabe. In case you're wondering, I was the latter.

Oh, and he knows Tristram Engelhardt! Hurray!

The real question is, how will this two-man team come together? They don't work together that much, as they are in vastly different fields. One of them at least works on the top floor. That's like five flights of stairs! I can barely manage it, so how can I ask another to do so? Perhaps if I rigged up some kind of primitive elevator out of coconuts, bamboo, and Ginger's hair, a la Gilligan's Island.

But then, of course, it would not merely be primitive, but 'as primitive as can be.' I'm not sure I'm ready for that yet.

So I suppose I will simply keep a foot in both worlds and beg for help and guidance as I need it. We'll be a ragtag team of ne'erdowells that no one wanted to give a chance, but with persistence we'll rise through the ranks to lead of one England's foremost soccer hooligan gangs--the Theologians.

We're gonna send your sorry arse right back to the God that made you, you git!

Maybe not, but it can always be the dream...