A Fine Squall

"He sought his own features in those of the life giver
and saw two worlds mirrored there: the hair was surf
curling around a sea-rock, the forehead a frowning river,

as they swirled in the estuary of a bewildered love,
and Time stood between them. The only interpreter
of their lips' joined babble, the river with the foam,"
-Darek Walkott, Omeros

I'll confess, revamping my live journal was about 900,000 times more fun than doing homework on the Friday of a break. I'm sort of a scumbag for not posting anything lately, since there's certainly a lot to talk about.
Using your magnificent skills of visual inferrence, I'm sure you can tell that we're wearing togas in this picture. The lovely Student Life office finally let the TKEs have their party after, oh, five weeks of chain yanking. In the end it was grand. A great time was had by all, as is wont to occur when everyone's wearing a toga.

Yes, tim cut all of his hair off... it was a great day in history. "Florence Henderson" is not a look easily pulled off by many college men. Fortunately, his head is a lovely shape, which is not something a lot of people can say for
themselves.

On Wednesday Kacie and I threw a crazy party for girls because, well, we never hang out with girls. I've decided that all I want in life is to be a party planner. I LOVE planning parties and THANK GOD I have enough friends that when I throw a party I'm not stuck on the couch, looking at the dip with a lonely tear in my eye.
This time we fancied up the house opium-den style, all pillows and pink lights and had an orgy. Just kidding. We sat around and ate until we were fat and happy. And then we ate some more.

Meanwhile, I'm shirking my homework duties, which are, as of this moment, to tell people about Hippolyte Taine in French (trust me, he's a royal bore) and to convince Dr. Otto that believing that loving the Beatles is really a religion.

I hope you like the new digs. I was tired of writing on a blog that looked like someone else's.

"Everything between the two events was but a series of gropings and blunders, and false rudiments of joy." -Nabokov, Lolita