They laid siege to it for seven years.

I just completed by penultimate week of class today, and I realize you guys are even closer to the end than I am. I hope you're surviving. Most of you. After I blogged last Friday, I got in a bus bound for Tufts, which is pretty close to MIT. I thought about texting you, Raku, but it probably wouldn't have been worth it because I was occupied with the track meet all day. So I didn't.

Sympathy for the Devil

STANLEY CUP PLAYOFFS START NEXT WEEK.

Earlier this week, the Ducks claimed their second ever Pacific Division title and clinched the second seed in the West. In the next two days, the standings will sort themselves out and the Ducks' first round opponent will be revealed. It's gonna be San Jose, Detroit, Minnesota, or Columbus. If it's San Jose, Jason, you should probably/definitely spend all the money you have in your pocketses and go to a game with Amanda.

On to less important things, like school.

Wait only for my boot heels to be wandering.

Here I am, sitting at my computer in my dorm room in Middlebury, Vermont, and I've got to write all about my time in Southern California over spring break. There must have been at least 38.6 billion moments during the trip that were awesome enough to merit mention here. With any luck, I'll remember half of them. Because I am lucky enough to be friends with the photographically inclined David Russell, I have a huge photo library, courtesy of the big man, at my disposal. These pictures should help with the storytelling.

Middlebury Has Three Dining Halls, Which Means I Have Three Times the Anxiety When Deciding My Meal Plans for the Day. I CANNOT LIVE UNDER THESE CONDITIONS.

Okay, go ahead and raise your hand if you're currently in Derek's Dorm at Middlebury right now. Don't be shy. Go ahead and raise your hand! Oh my, it's just me, then? How unfortunate for you all.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

Here I am in Utah. The skiing has been pretty bad because we haven't had snow in a while, but it's supposed to snow this afternoon, tonight, and tomorrow, so tomorrow should be a good day. Because the conditions suck so much right now, we're planning on going snowmobiling today. Can't wait.

We owe it to each other to tell stories.

This blog is a strange thing, particularly when considered with its relationship to the rest of my week. You see, throughout my week, I see and do all sorts of strange, wonderful, dreadful, or at least marginally anecdote-worthy things. Yet, when I sit down to write on the blog, as of course I am doing right now, I can't help but think that a thousand tiny stories have come and gone from my busy little head over the last seven days, a few of which I would have liked to share.
I suppose I'll have to stick to the big stories, for now. Let's start with the track meet.

The South Will Rise Again

Look at how pissed off all the fans are. I love it.

Baby, It's Cold Outside

Howdy folks. Let's talk about my week.

He sounds more sincere than that when he lies.

Thanks to the wonders of technology, the majority of my post just got deleted. So you get the short version.

Valaritas

Exactly one month from today, I will wake up in Newport Beach for the first time since February. That should be enjoyable. Also, I'm listening to KUSC right now. The answer to today's Great Composer Quiz was Beethoven. Real original, Dennis.

Instead of coal, Santa now gives the bad children . . .

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Welcome to the Hotel California

A black arrow, doused in snake venom, whizzed through the air for fifty meters, then embedded itself in the heart of a mail-clad soldier. His mail armor was weak, and he faltered, then fell off his mount, eyes full of death. The small scout force of humans braced for an attack, but too late. Forty lkaks, creatures distinguished by the smell of rotten eggs about them and three large horns sticking out of their forehead, leapt out of the trees, quickly cutting down the nine remaining humans. In a few short seconds, it was over.

I wish I had time for just one more bowl of chili.

First things first: Rachael, are you alive? Or has some inexplicable force prevented your Friday post from appearing on my computer? If you have died, please let us know so that we can get on with our lives without wondering what's become of you. Thank you.

The last time anybody made a list of the top hundred character attributes of New Yorkers, common sense snuck in at number 79.

There comes a time once in every runner's life when he forgets what it is like not to be acquainted with the sport. More specifically, there comes a time once in every runner's life when he forgets what it is like not to be acquainted with people who wear very short shorts and think that it's perfectly normal. And for those not aware, I ought to inform you that I am using a very liberal definition of the word "once." But more on that in a minute. We're taking the chronological route for this one.