Rule of thumb: Girls who have their parents find you an old school Nintendo, buy it for you, and have it shipped from Alaska totally kick ass. Dudes, there will be hunting of ducks this summer, and it will not be done in camoflage. I'm not sure if this is quite as exciting a prospect for you as it is para mi, but it should be damnit.
In other news, The Meaning of Life still kicks ass. In sports, my roommate is now on crutches because of a brutal volleyball injury. This has several implications: he can no longer participate in the one hour of activity he was obligated to perform per day (though he still goes to bed before midnight to be fully rested for intensive sitting on his ass), I have to help him to and from the shower, and he's fun to trip. In weather, it looks like The Hound of the Baskervilles here every night; the fog has replaced the rain with a vengeance since dear Petros departed. And I shall be leaving in two days for the land of California where I will sing a lot, be housed by old and senile people, go to the Price is Right and Disneyland, and encounter my parents. Sounds like a recipe for a beautiful disaster.
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