will provide hours of nostalgic, slightly derisive fun

there's a section for davidson college on ratemyprofessors.com. profs get ratings on easiness, clarity, helpfulness, and—gratuitously (or perhaps not?)—hotness, signified by a red chili pepper next to their names. malcolm campbell got one chili pepper; shireen campbell got 3. my favorite so far is d. robb's entry. the vast differences in response to him ('MOST BORING MAN ALIVE' vs. 'clear, precise, and rigorous') reflect the vast differences in humor level among davy students.

durwin striplin, chem prof and onetime wailer for the briefly incarnated band enormous power, also got a chili pepper. enormous pepper, greg pointed out. just the fact that there is a person named durwin striplin walking around on this planet is cause for celebration.

also, someone thinks randy ingram looks like kevin spacey. another compared his class to dead poet's society. kuzmo, too, is 'a professor out of a movie,' though the 'evil-twisted-santa-claus exterior' is agreed to be just that.

i can't believe shaw smith and cort savage haven't gotten any chili peppers.

two extremes

either i can't get myself to slow down, or i can't get myself to do anything at all. mostly the latter. i'm not very interested in what i'm supposed to be doing, which is finishing that class. i am, however, intensely interested in season 3 of gilmore girls, which i am inadvertently cut off from because lost highway was at position #1 in my netflix queue the moment they received the last disc i returned, and i had forgotten to move the next gg disc up front. i will often fool myself into thinking i am using netflix to watch actual movies, and then at the last minute i'll reshuffle my queue. but this time i happened to be shopping at the co-op and sticking my face in the adoption window of the kitty clinic when the crucial moment arrived.

that show is sweet valley high for my adult life. which is great and terrible at the same time. the problems—not the overarching dramatic ones, but the ones that get resolved within each episode—are of the kind that only really count as problems on tv. in the episode i just watched, rory is mad at her grandpa for setting up a 'spontaneous' meeting for her with his friend, the head of admissions at yale. and she wasn't prepared. oh horrors! after a family-laundry scene in the echo-y and quite gilded chamber of a yale building, lorelai and rory huff away to the comfort of tacos, and later, before studying, rory smooches her new bad-boy boyfriend (who raises eyebrows around town but isn't so bad that he's not way into books) outside a gas station. meanwhile lorelai has ample opportunity to say things like, 'don't study so much that your head gets so large and grows into a bald and shiny egghead, because i want to go shoe shopping tomorrow.'

why do anything other than watch this show? seriously. the only good reason i can think of is that there's a finite number of episodes. i guess the only way out is to get sucked into the final season of six feet under, which i was afraid to watch because i was too embarrassed for claire. hbo is my methodone (sung to the catchy tune of 'angel is my centerfold').

good news re: kitty adopting tho, because i found one today. it's a boy, 7 weeks old, and we get it in the next two weeks once it's neutered. gray tabby-ish with darker stripes and blue eyes. name and pictures forthcoming. what would a blog be without pictures of a cat? time to put tinfoil on the chairs.

i can anticipate the good grammar

i love cut-and-paste cover-letter writing. that could be the next magnetic poetry set. remind me to sell that.

i'm applying for jobs because for nearly 24 hours i've been toying with the idea of going part-time with school. i hear there's an onion internship. maybe i could sell them my cover-letter magnetic poetry idea.

went to the acupuncturist today for the second time. it was awesome. which was awesome, because last time it was not. except strange thing: the office had this lingering smell underneath all other odors (soap, copy paper) of weed. maybe the doormen sneak in there at night? maybe there's something i didn't know about chinese herbs—namely, that they're not plural after all.

happy new year from: the drunk people

ed intervened just before i cracked open a smirnoff ice and took me home. it was that kind of night.

deep down, walmart knows my soul

i have the greatest hoodie ever. a beatles yellow submarine hoodie. and i got it at walmart of all places, thanks to a tip from the publix checkout girl in gville who was wearing one. i bought the last one, and the rest of the rack was kiss and acdc and that was it. when every other five-year-old's drool-spotted chin was reflecting the glow of star wars laser swords, mine was shining in the light of the beatles' huge bellbottoms and the mickey-mouselike ears of the head blue meanie. psychedelic graphics are perfect for five-year-olds. and now that our morally repellent superstore has placed one of its invisible fingers on the pulse of my first childhood salivation, i am sold.

no matter how i save it, the picture will not appear upright. below the logo it says nothing is real.