Postgraduate researcher in The School of Pharmacy at The University of Nottingham.
Vices include épée, wine, opera and Evensong.
About meThis is my personal site and as such may not represent the views of my institution or funding bodies.
chaptertwelve replied to your post: #hash[twitter]tag
But… that’s so sensible.
I take myself far too seriously sometimes. That said, spending much of this evening playing catch with a a beautiful, energy-filled toddler removed quite a bit of that, at least for a while.
There seems to be a trend for utilising hashtags that include references to terms such as “tweet” or “twitter”.
Two recent example include #diemeistertweeter to follow Glyndebourne’s live broadcast of Die Meistersinger von Nürnberg , and The Royal Opera’s use of #madamatwitterfly for their big screen performance of Madama Butterfly.
These tags are jokey and personal, which is surely the goal of arts organisations on a mission to attract and engage a younger audience. However, they loose the instant recognition needed when skimming your stream and make searching for the appropriate hashtag more difficult. Wouldn’t #diemeistersinger and #madamabutterfly would have better choices?
Hashtags are, broadly, confined to the Twitter ecosystem. There is therefore no need to repeat the Twitter name within the tag, even if it does have a humorous ring to it. To do so reduces tag recognition and makes it harder to find those discussing the topic at hand.
Please, say what you see.
According to my colleague, Fabio.
Remind us, Muse, of that man of many means,
sent spinning the length and breadth of the map
after bringing the towers of Troy to their knees;
of the lessons he learned in the cities of great minds
and the heartbreak he suffered, roaming the seas
to land his shipmates and salvage his life.
But for all the torture and grief he sustained
his comrades were lost; heedless fools,
they gorged themselves on the Cattle of the Sun.
In turn, the God of the Sun made death their domain.
Muse, daughter of Memory and Zeus,
where to start this story is yours to choose.
— The prologue to Simon Armitage’s radio adaptation of Homer’s Odyssey.
It is still relatively early, and yet I find myself in bed. Bringing the computer here is a bad habit. One that I have yet to break. A wise man said that your bed should be for sleep and sex only. If only. My legs are heavy. They miss the regular pulse of the daily bicycle commute. A discarded rowing machine, a father’s folly, stares at me from across the room. “Tomorrow” I say, as I said yesterday. Choral music filters from the speakers and a glass, once of wine, stands empty on the bedside table. Wearily, I shift my legs in preparation to find more.
— A paragraph. As instructed by First Today, Then Tomorrow.
For haunted, and her generous cadaver, Carl.
This is my body,
The shell of my being,
Which is given to you.In final offering
To the world
I share the elements of life.
From these old bones,
These ligaments,
My sinews and my nerves
May that life force
That ran in me
Shine forth once more
And pass to you
The knowledge and the power
That help sustain
The miracle of life.
— An anonymous writer on donating his body to medical science.
Today was the last day of anatomy lab. Bittersweet; maybe it’s just Stockholm Syndrome but I feel very close & connected to my dissection group, my TA, my professor, &—of course—my cadaver, Carl. Thank you Carl. Thank you for donating your body so I could learn. Thank you for letting me see your middle ear ossicles today. Thank you for letting me see your cranial nerves. Thank you for helping me understand.
