Yay truancy, yay kleptomania, and one more cheer for apathy.

[Okay, that is probably the most unclear way of stating what I'm feeling, but rather than rephrase I'll just refer to the I don't care sentiment.]

Lots of anecdotes, but so tired that I don’t care and so don’t care that I’m tired.

I don't suppose anyone planning to vote around lunchtime might accidentally leave a slice of pizza in the voting booth? Midafternoon snacks would be just as appreciated.

If it didn't violate the election law I must uphold I would also be receptive to arguments against writing in Jon Stewart for President. Because, honestly, I think I would trust him most to lead the country.

“Why can't we be ourselves like we were yesterday...”
Halloween was as New Year’s Eve was, except with BLT instead of da ba dee da ba daa.

According to Zeno of Elea, halfway done with my paper on Greek Mathematics.
“...the wisdom of a fool won't set you free...”

A bowdlerized single will at least end the SI drought, and considering how tasteless my entries were I suppose I should be grateful that I got anything. Forget deciding whether to chance submitting a misogynistic joke to the Empress; what does one do after she doesn’t get it and requests an explanation?

[Okay, Doughnut Guy seems doable. If anyone has something like an apron, give me a call.]

Any simple good last-minute ideas for a Halloween costume which aren’t based on Rocky Horror Picture Show?

Hold, the phone.

(Though maybe Carnahan and Gore then won't call back?)

Speaking of sweeps: can I pick a great week to stop rooting for the Red Sox? With the kindergarten era preference for the color red and the regular tickets to see the Orioles dominated having been long dissipated, was it so awful to desire a home team I could actually root for?

“Another life awaits me…”
7-hour bus rides are easily undertaken for the wonders of nostalgia with old friends moved away years ago. The reminiscing, the endless chess and card games, the admiration of feline antics, the lunches, the lazy weekends, the glimpsing of new lives with the photographing of old ones: random touches of the eternal past incidentally swept together.
“…for I am not your broom.”

I believe I might have just read the best book I have ever read: Umberto Eco’s “Baudolino”. It is the type of book that reading changes how one reads books. After every chapter, page, and paragraph I had to remind myself, convince myself, repeat to myself that it was not true, so that by the end of the novel I was questioning what truth itself was.

Like other Eco novels, however, it does have a steep period of struggle where the reader must invest himself until the can’t-put-it-down suddenly catches: ~250, I estimate.

Vander wasn't bilt in a day.

If Cardinals/Astros Game 7 didn’t have enough pressure, now the winner will take the World Series. The Astros offer Texas/Massachusetts in a contest appropriate enough for 2004; however, the Cardinals offer me a rootable home team. This is an easy call.

Hypothetically: an hour into a no-buyin poker tournament with about the initial 3250 remaining, you hold AT offsuit. Preflop the 50-100 blinds are raised 1500 by the left-hand player (who holds ~2000 more than you­), which you call after everyone else folds. Flop is 987 rainbow. How do you play?

Yesterday was brought to you by the phrase “Don’t Bother”. I’d explain further except cantaloupe and I’m still trying to decide what should be done with an $85 carabiner.

And speaking of apathy, while I still think that media will eventually merge into politics, even before any new paradigm I wonder why Jon Stewart does not run for office. Aside from being more qualified than, say, Schwarzenegger, he seems to want to make a difference, and most importantly realizes what must not be done better than any other political figure aside from basic voters.

Which is not to imply that an Apathy Club shouldn’t be formed, but it shouldn’t.

Apologies, but couldn't design entries: fourteen grueling harsh innings juxtaposed knowledge, lab, midterm. Now our perennial, quixotic rhyme: "Successor / Two-thousand-four / Undeserved vitriol / Whore"
XOXOXO
Yours zealously,

I finally saw the Tivoed third debate and despite all the reports feel that Kerry did badly, but after his successes in the first 2 debates it doesn't matter at all, and honestly, I don't care. I’m more concerned that Kerry doesn't seem to consider Missouri as a potential swing state anymore.

To sum up the debates:
Who won the first, What took the second, and I don't know the third.

Upward and downward, and downward and downward:
Ascended the arch, and the amazingly cheap markerboard fell down. Descended the arch, and the rehung markerboard broke as it fell again.

So do I just buy another cheap one, or try to salvage this one, or go without though I have been receiving messages? Or just never descend from my room?

Dearest dainty damsel Cat
Your name, it seems, does rhyme with Matt.
(I had to write a poem on that.)
Be back later for a chat.

[Yay bad poetry. It’s that kind of weekend.]

Pulp Fiction was interesting in a way I am still not sure how to otherwise describe. Perhaps contrarian, as if, at points when the audience would have an expectation the opposite would be done. Perhaps a thrill, in the way a roller coaster is a thrill ride: it is more entertaining the more queasy (physically and psychologically) an audience becomes?

1+1+2+1 actually came up in a problem during Calculus study session- but no one else had a Clue.

[And a Hessian matrix is an nxn array that fought for Britain.]

The difference between Christopher Walken and Christopher Reeve is the first guy isn't Reeve, and the second guy isn’t