I was going through four years’ worth of college notes, papers, forms, doodles, etc. (and THAT was a formidable project, let me tell you), and I found a small scrap of paper that had the following written on it:

Unfortunately, California has fallen into the Pacific.

Save the world from its own incompetency!

Fiddler on the Roof

cast of the shackles of academia and join the circus as a trapeze artist.

dirty socks

All of the above was crossed off once except for “dirty socks.” All of it was in my handwriting, but I have absolutely no memory of writing it or what it means. What really bothers me is, why didn’t I cross off dirty socks? Oh, mysteries of the universe!

Hey, I graduated! That was kinda cool. Not the ceremony, specifically: that was long and boring and the walk across the stage was so fast that it’s all a blur. I am still assailed with bouts of unreality; how can my life of four years not continue the same? Surely I’ll be back at the dorm soon, eating terrible food at the cafeteria and climbing trees with friends.

Oh, one nice thing about the graduation ceremony, I was able to smuggle in a tiny book of Longfellow’s poetry that I found and was saving for just such a time. In fact, I’ve had considerably more time since graduation for reading in general, which is quite nice indeed. I polished off the Longfellow poems (Tales from a Wayside Inn, if anyone cares to know) and reread Towards Zero by Agatha Christie. I’m not much of a murder mystery book person, but I do love Agatha Christie. Maybe just because she’s British. I don’t know why that should make a difference, but it does seem to.

I also read The Postman by David Brin, which was recommended to me years ago by my astronomy professor, who is awesomeness incarnate. He has eyebrows that defy all laws of physics. Anyway, he also has pretty decent taste in scifi, though I don’t know that I’d classify The Postman as scifi. I was more fascinated by the idea than the execution, though that may just have been me. It’s worth reading, though, and quite thought-provoking in a way as well. It reminded me just vaguely of The Road by Cormac McCarthy, only much lighter, somehow. Then again, I suppose just about anyone is lighter than Cormac McCarthy, so that’s not saying a whole lot.

For some reason I can’t recall if I posted this or not, but it’s worth repeating anyway: you should read The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint Exupery at your earliest convenience. It is very, very marvelous, and I am sad for all of the years of my life that passed before I got around to reading it.

And now, some other links!
Oh, those roboticists.
Huzzah for the 501st!
Watch in horror as a German Shepherd is brutally mauled by a tiny, hyperactive furball! *sigh* I have problems, I know.
Do not mess with band geeks.
I don’t know about you, but this happens every time I drive anywhere at all.
Junk-Mart.
And while we’re on the subject of junk, these folks use piles of trash to make silhouettes of themselves. I confess, I didn’t understand what they meant until someone explained that the trash makes the silhouettes. THEN it was amazing. I think.
Again, is this only funny because the folks are British? I just don’t know.

I’m sure I had something more useful to say, but I can’t remember it now, so it must not have been too amazing…

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