Just Another Manic...Tuesday?

My plan today was to write about the last leg of my trip to Kenya. My plan was tweaked by the fact that A) I didn't leave work until 5:15, meaning I didn't get to this until 5:45, meaning that I don't have enough time to do a good shake-down for you. and B) I don't have a notebook with me that will provide much needed detail into said third blog on Kenya. 


So unfortunately you fabulous people will have to wait until mañana because I am off to mi clase española!  Si, I am taking a Spanish class. I'm pretty sure that being able to order another beer and ask for the bathroom is not enough Spanish skill for a girl to have. Thus, to class I go. 


So, I leave you with the words of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, the man who inspired the name for my blog and who makes me giggle with his introspective yet joking satire on poets: 

A Soliloquy Of The Full Moon, She Being In A Mad Passion

Now as Heaven is my Lot, they're the Pests of the Nation! Wherever they can come With clankum and blankum 'Tis all Botheration, & Hell & Damnation, With fun, jeering Conjuring Sky-staring, Loungering, And still to the tune of Transmogrification-- Those muttering Spluttering Ventriloquogusty Poets With no Hats Or Hats that are rusty. They're my Torment and Curse And harass me worse And bait me and bay me, far sorer I vow Than the Screech of the Owl Or the witch-wolf's long howl, Or sheep-killing Butcher-dog's inward Bow wow For me they all spite--an unfortunate Wight. And the very first moment that I came to Light A Rascal call'd Voss the more to his scandal, Turn'd me into a sickle with never a handle. A Night or two after a worse Rogue there came, The head of the Gang, one Wordsworth by name-- `Ho! What's in the wind?' 'Tis the voice of a Wizzard! I saw him look at me most terribly blue ! He was hunting for witch-rhymes from great A to Izzard, And soon as he'd found them made no more ado But chang'd me at once to a little Canoe. From this strange Enchantment uncharm'd by degrees I began to take courage & hop'd for some Ease, When one Coleridge, a Raff of the self-same Banditti Past by--& intending no doubt to be witty, Because I'd th' ill-fortune his taste to displease, He turn'd up his nose, And in pitiful Prose Made me into the half of a small Cheshire Cheese. Well, a night or two past--it was wind, rain & hail-- And I ventur'd abroad in a thick Cloak & veil-- But the very first Evening he saw me again The last mentioned Ruffian popp'd out of his Den-- I was resting a moment on the bare edge of Naddle I fancy the sight of me turn'd his Brains addle-- For what was I now? A complete Barley-mow And when I climb'd higher he made a long leg, And chang'd me at once to an Ostrich's Egg-- But now Heaven be praised in contempt of the Loon, I am I myself I, the jolly full Moon. Yet my heart is still fluttering-- For I heard the Rogue muttering-- He was hulking and skulking at the skirt of a Wood When lightly & brightly on tip-toe I stood On the long level Line of a motionless Cloud And ho! what a Skittle-ground! quoth he aloud And wish'd from his heart nine Nine-pins to see In brightness & size just proportion'd to me. So I fear'd from my soul, That he'd make me a Bowl, But in spite of his spite This was more than his might And still Heaven be prais'd! in contempt of the Loon I am I myself I, the jolly full Moon. Buenos Noches! Kim