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.

My readers will excuse me from the unnecessary duty of describing the denouement.

If I was going somewhere, I was running.

That was a damn good burger I just had. I want all of you to know that. But on to less important things.

So if it's just us . . . seems like an awful waste of space.

I have now been on campus for eight days and attended exactly zero classes. 'Tis the nature of pre-season cross country. My days have mostly consisted of the following:

Only priests and fools expected the roads in that part of the world to be safe.

It's good to be back.

My journey began at just past 8:00 pm, Pacific time, on Sunday the 26th, when my I got in the car with my parents and dog and headed up the 405. According to my boarding pass, the flight was scheduled to depart from LAX at 10:36 PST and land in Newark at 6:45 EST the next morning. According to my memory, the flight departed a little after midnight and arrived around 8:30. If we are to assume that my memory and not my boarding pass is correct, we may also assume that I missed my connection to Burlington.

An Old Man's Wheezing Waffle

"What a year it has been! Hopefully your heads are a little fuller than they were . . . you have the whole summer ahead to get them nice and empty before next year starts. . . ."

What I Learned In Boating School Is

BLANKITY, BLANKITY, BLANK.

Scooby Dooby Doo, Where Are You?

I did many things last week, most of which were very routine and therefore undeserving of mention herein. However, it is my belief that at least a couple of them were slightly less routine and consequently worthy of note, for what is the purpose of this blog if not to expound upon the triumphs and travails of the collegiate week (phrase taken from our 11th grade history textbook, as in "The Triumphs and Travails of the Jeffersonian Republic), even if they are none too triumphant when compared to other triumphs, nor travailent when compared to other travails. Not to be confuse with trivalent. Because one is a word, and one isn't, and in any case I haven't taken a chemistry class since tenth grade, and do not intend to break that trend any time in the foreseeable or unforeseeable future.

We shall see the Shire again.

Some of us sooner than others. Apparently, by the time Rachael reads this she will already be in the Shire. Hopefully the movie got it right; I'd hate for the book's version of seeing the Shire again to come true. Well, I still have a couple of weeks before I find myself looking upon a familiar sight. I'll be failing to remember the taste of strawberries until May 22, which is, I believe, later than Rachael, Jason, and Rich get home, but before Nicole gets home. So this week I have classes and next week I have exams. Disirregardless of when you guys stop posting, I will post next Monday and very likely the Monday after that. If ruining the weekly symmetry of the blog is something you can't deal with, go ahead and leave, because I'm not going to.

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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It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

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.

Almost 13,000 page views? Cool.

Bloggers, this post comes from an under-the-weather Rachael, so despite my hopes of matching Nicole’s amazing wit and captivating journey of a week that was definitely more interesting than mine, I will warn you that this post can do nothing except fall short.  I will be accepting flowers, money, and chocolates as well-wishing presents.

Here Comes the Sun

Last week I was wondering if Rachael was alive. Turns out, she was, and presumably still is. (Speaking of Rachael, HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Yes, I have all of your birthdays, plus those of several other people, written down in my calendar. I need not use an electronic crutch for such things.) Well, this week another member of our cast has gone AWOL, although I am less inclined to think that he has died than I am to think that he simply forgot to post. Rich, please come back. We miss you.

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.

It looks like the excitement of my artistic triumph is too much for Squidward.

Did you feel the eathquake? Only a 4. Weaksauce. It should be obvious which one of you I'm addressing here.

Advanced Darkness

10. ASPARAGUS

9. Without any milk.

During the August of 2009 I came up with a list of my top ten favorite Spongebob episodes. I know this because I saved the list on my computer and dated it. This small fact entered the royal realm of relevance relatively recently because a friend of mine, as it turns out, did not grow up with Spongebob.

The Ignorant Edema

You know what's funny about starting off a sentence with "You know what's funny about x"? It's just that, if you don't know what's funny about x you really don't have anywhere to go with that sentence. I say this only because I started typing "You know what's funny about" and I didn't really have anything in mind, so I just wrote this circuitous little justification for me starting out like that. Now I suppose I can get on with things that are actually things.