They say California’s the big burrito.

Ah, Monday. Time to write a blog post. But what shall we write about? Let us see, let us see. Well, how about we start with where we last left off? Sounds good to me.
Last Monday I wrote a blog post.
Last Tuesday I went to class, ate, read (for class), did a track workout, and pretty much just existed in a general sort of way.
Last Wednesday I did not have class, so I just read and ran.
You've been reading correctly, by the way. I didn't eat, sleep, or relieve myself for three days.
This is false. I did plenty of all three.
Oh, and on either Tuesday or Wednesday I had a fantastic 80 minute conversation with a friend about classic Cartoon Network cartoons. We covered Dexter's Lab, Samurai Jack, Powerpuff Girls, even Cow and Chicken (not a classic, just ridiculously awful).
So now we get to Thursday, where something marginally more interesting happens.

Thursday was the last day of my J-term class, the which if you with patient ears attend, you'll find out what happened. (Yes, that was completely unnecessary. I apologize from the bottom of my pitiless heart.) So anyway. Last day of class. We went down to the college museum because they had an exhibit on recent (as in from the last five years or so) African art, and, y'know, our class had a lot to do with African literature, so it kinda makes sense, yeah? Yeah. Most of the art had a lot to do with the artist being mad at the world, which shouldn't be surprising because, well, a poor African artist probably has a lot to be mad at the world about. There were a few really powerful pieces, like the one below. It's a symbolic representation of Nigeria's relationship with the oil industry, which I'm not going to explain here but I encourage you to familiarize yourselves with it if you haven't already. The piece is mounted on a wall and it's about ten feet tall and over twenty feet long (estimations on my part), and those discs you see are all popped out about five inches from the background. Neato.

Like this, but bigger.

Downstairs (because the African exhibit was obviously upstairs, sheesh you guys), there was a bunch of European artwork, and there were a few originals from people we (Nicole and I) learned about in Gunnin's class. So that was satisfying. There was a Diego Rivera too. Good stuff. But let's move on, shall we?

At 3:17 pm on the very same Thursday I got in a taxi and headed to Burlington. I remember the time so specifically because I called for a 3:00 cab. Say lah vee. (My French is impeccable; please, try to contain your envy, lesser ones.)

My parents picked me up from John Wayne at some ungodly hour (well, I guess all hours are ungodly if you ask me), and we stopped at Del Taco on the way home. I had La Salsa for lunch on Friday and homemade enchiladas for dinner on Saturday. I'm hoping to squeeze either an El Torito or a Taco Rosa in before I go back. Or both. Oh, and I can't forget La Fogata. Very underrated burritos, right on PCH, about half a mile north of Chronic Tacos and half a mile south of El Ranchito.
I've noticed a bit of a frightening development since I've been back. You see, I don't get a whole lot of spicy food way up in the Green Mountain State. And I have to say, I'm usually pretty good with the spicy stuff back home. But in the past couple days I've noticed my palette is a little more sensitive than it used to be, presumably from lack of practice with spicy food. This is worrisome.

Rooting for.

Another slight change. On Friday I underwent a pretty big haircut operation. Let's put it this way: I hadn't had a haircut since August, and now, well, it's pretty damn short. And none of you are going to see it like this, because by the time you see me again it will have grown out to normal length. And, as I've recently grown fond of saying half-sarcastically about just about anything, that's too damn bad.
 Tonight's gonna be a busy night. I'm going to the Ducks game with my parents (Cole's not home by the way. Jason just might have picked up on this already.), and if they don't crush the Calgary Flames then . . . well, I don't have anything to threaten them with. Hopefully they can pull it out.

Rooting against.

But tonight's not gonna be busy just 'cause I'm watching hockey; I'm playing it, too. My dad plays on an adult men's league every Monday and Wednesday night, and and tonight his team's game is at 11:30, which means two things: One, a couple of the guys don't want to play that late so they need a sub or two (that's me), and Two, that's late enough that we can watch a game in Anaheim and play one in Irvine. Barring a record-breaking shootout that lasts thirty-five rounds. Which won't happen. Hopefully.

I'd say he's staring into your soul, but I don't think he'd like that description.

I've recently picked up a very interesting book, Arguably, a collection of 107 essays written by Christopher Hitchens, whom I hope you are all familiar with, even if barely. He gives me the distinct impression that I will never be worth anything as a writer, though I suspect 99 percent of all published writers who have read him feel the same way. According to Christopher Buckley, Hitchens "is the greatest living essayist in the English language." Well, half true. I'll let you know how I like it. But for now, I'll allow you a peek of the cover.

While we're on the subject of books, I ought to say a word about the one I just finished for my J-term class, Wizard of the Crow. It's well written and interesting, but I think it gets a little bogged down. The ending is a bit of a twist. Part of it I saw coming, part of it I didn't. I think Rich and Rachael would like this book a lot, and I think Jason, Nicole, and myself would rather read something else. Now that I think about it, I think Cole would like it a lot. Yes, I see it. Kinda like 1984. Well, kinda.

My schedule for the upcoming week: fly to Salt Lake City early Wednesday morning with Ma and Pa (I don't call them that), get some skiing in until Sunday, when I fly back to Vermont. 'Course, the forecast looks awful. This really is one of the worst snow years in recorded history. Maybe I'll spend a lot more time reading Hitchen's book that I would have liked to. Then again, maybe that won't be such a bad thing.

Alright, alright. The gig is up. I just pressed "PUBLISH POST" and guess what? It said something like, "We can't publish because there are conflicting edits." Right. Well, what I read was, "We can't post because the people you thought were your friends are sabotaging your blog post." Be gone from this place, foolish mortals, lest you incur my wrath.