Snowbound and Irate

So, I had a date last night, and rather happily, it went better than expected. Which is saying something, when I honestly expected it to go pretty well. Next time, definitely cooking myself, even if we have to go to her place. Hopefully her husband won't mind. (Husband -- that's a whole other ball of interesting wax, but as its her story to tell, I'm not spilling any beans here.)

For all you gossipmongers: move along! I don't kiss and tell, however much I do or do not kiss. I'll just say that it was an absolutely lovely evening, and I hope I see it's like frequently. And that, as they say, is that.

No, the rest of this is about my trip to Boston. Birthplace of the revolution's biggest cup of tea, beloved of the Irish Mob, so full of higher education it's like a pint of cheap beer you poured too fast. We may not have as much history as they do in Europe (it's more a thin veneer, compared to it being much like a line great Peter O'Toole once said: "Knee deep in seminal fluid." Evocative, isn't it?), but there's a whole hell of a lot of it up here. You could argue there should be more down where I'm from, but let's be honest: the swamps and the hurricanes are too quick about eating away at all that Spanish Conquistador crap as quickly as it can manage. Up here, you've got to build to survive the winters, and that means sturdy and strong.

Plus, if I'm right about the ages of some of the people sharing the bus with me, some of those Daughters of the Revolution are literally their daughters. Vampires always were paticularly attached to the trappings of home.

I wonder sometimes if it's growing pains. You'd think this country would be past them, as we ramble our way toward the two and a half century mark, but I don't think so. Or maybe it's a midlife crisis. Even here, where you can't spit without hitting a historical landmark, no one seems to give a damn that our precious republic is going down the fucking toilet. You'd think we'd retroactively installed lead pipes for our water supply, passed out the pewter cups, and were just waiting for our lovely Hun neighbors to come around for a Saturday afternoon barbeque. You can't tell me that it's not just a matter of time before Survivor starts taking its name seriously, and the people voted off the island get thrown to the sharks. Bread and circuses, ladies and gentlemen, and we're just getting shorted on bread because that would be a 'handout for those no-good welfare junkies.'

I don't know if I have any hope for a change in power to fix things, either, but I suppose we'll find out in a few weeks after the midterms. It's pretty damn fascinating just how much the party in power is self-destructing, though. If we manage to dig up enough independents and Democrats with balls, get them all into the House, and then -- just maybe -- start talking about impeachment hearings? I promise that I'm gonna break out the rainbow wig and the John 3:16 sign and go hang out in the congressional galleries. At the very least, I'll rent a pickup so I can host a few tailgate parties.

I will give Boston this: I like the subway. Of course, you've got to have something like that in a climate like this. I've heard that Toronto has whole malls underground, so you don't have to go out into the weather in winter. Frankly? I'd be scared to death to visit a place like that. What, do you freeze to death if your coat isn't properly closed and you have to run aboveground between tunnels for thirty seconds? Brrr. Gimme white sands and bikinis as far as the eye can see anyday.

In final good news, I was able to find just what I needed for my costume. Let's hope I can get into it properly come Tuesday, but for now I think I'm as ready as I can be. Whatever happens, this is looking to be one heck of a dance.

After two and a half days of busting my hump, I emerge from the Mines of Moria...otherwise known as the grindstone of back homework...triumphant, and I didn't even have to sacrifice Gandalf to the Balrog to do it. I consider two evenings and most of a morning a small price to pay for academic peace of mind. At least from this point forward, I'll be muddling along with the rest of you at proper pace. In those circumstances, I can procrastinate with the best!

However, I've not just been an academic dynamo. No, ladies and gentlemen, I've actually finished cleaning in here too. Not that I have much to clean, but I desperately needed to get stuff put away. I suppose I could have kept fooling myself; there's something comfortingly transitory about living out of a suitcase, at times. But it's a bit depressing to never be at home, either. Weighing the options, it turns out that puncturing the bubble of my self-delusion won the coin toss. Who would have thought.

But this meant that it was time to return cleaning supplies. I started with a quick stop at Emi's room, which lead to my introduction to 'Fingers'. Because every pirate ship needs a monkey. I think it's in the part of the code that isn't so much suggestion as 'absolute', but I couldn't be certain. However, he was full of excellent advice before I braved my true destination, the dark pit of despair for many a man...

Delaney.

I know, I know, half of you are laughing at me for being a melodramatic coward. And yet the other half are nodding their heads knowingly. It's hard approaching a sacred bastion of the fairer gender alone. What if it turns into a bacchanal suddenly, in the most classic sense, and they tear you limb from limb? I mean, there are ways to go and there are ways to go, and that one sort of misses the point of the better options.

But I was brave. I took a deep breath, and with Lysol and Oxy-Clean in hand, I braved the upper floors of that dangerous place and sought the inner sanctum of my quarry -- Dot. You can torture it out of me, but I won't reveal what I found when admitted inside to return her supplies. Name, rank, and serial...okay, I can't keep it up. She's a girl, it's her room, I'm still not telling but it was hardly as if I crawled through Shelob's Lair.

However, I did come out of it with something unexpected. Namely, a date for the Halloween dance. (And I'll reiterate here: No, Dot. Emi did not put me up to asking you.) Strangers have to stick together; it's that, or plot each other's demise. We may get to that too, but for now I think we'll be too distracted by our costuming plans. I will say nothing, in case prying eyes are reading, but only note that I'm going to have to make a trip down to Boston tomorrow to shop. Insert your standard mad cackle here.

Boston comes tomorrow, however. For now, I'm back in my room and pacing. Tanne's on her way over for dinner, and I'm noticing just how pathetically slim my hosting abilities are in this room. I'm going to have to do something about that, and soon, but there's just not been enough time.

Sometimes, I wonder where this host 'twitch' came from. It's not as if either of my parents were very big on parties or the like, so I don't see how it can be learned behavior. Maybe I just read the right (or the wrong, depending on how you look at it) things during my formatives years. That, or as I'm sure a certain someone will intimate, it's simply a manifestation of my swishy side. As if it's my fault that girls appreciate someone who actually remembers to shower more than once a week?

Speaking of girls, time to order dinner so it gets here in time. Note to self: find a kitchen I can use sooner than later, and start ordering the proper spices. Second note to self: Knock off a fellow student so I have enough room to put all this stuff. Preferably in the room next to mine so I can take out the wall. Third note: Not Emi.