=D

So tonight was the big party in the student center, they hired a comedian for a show and then there was a dance and shit. Some karaoke, oldies and classic rock, bleah. I figured I'd drift around awhile, flit from group to group like I always do, take advantage of free soda, and then go home.

And then someone said there was DDR on the top floor.

Well, it turns out we have a DDR club. With cool people and nice pads. I ask how many people are in it, "Oh, we're not really a big club. Maybe fifteen, twenty people show up to meetings." Honey, where I come from that is called good fucking turnout. 8D So I danced and watched and danced and it really is like riding a bike, you can pick it up again even if you haven't done it in years. YAAAAY Wild Rush~! Yay B4U. And there's a guy who does craaaazy dance moves on the pad, and there are girls who do really wonderful things with offbeats, and I am so in this club it is not even funny. YEY.

And now midnight has struck, the student center is closed, and most of my fellow students on this the night before Labor Day are going out to drink. Meanwhile I, having had good exercise with good people, am going to do some pepakura, munch some ramen, and then be off to bed. All is as it should be.

....

...holy shit, the Crocodile Hunter's dead.

Stingray. Pierced the lung.

RIP, Steve. The world is a lesser place without you.

Today on the library steps:

To our amusement.

A pair of boys stood on the edge of the high, wide ledge beside the steps and read from identical thick tomes that had the look of 'required pre-class reading' about them. We were on the other side, leaning up against the opposite ledge, and couldn't really make out the words. It might've been Frost. It might've been Revelations. It might've been German. It was difficult to tell.

A pair of considerably younger boys- in the two to five range- were playing with a simple foam-rubber rocket launcher at the base of the steps. One was quite good at jumping on the pump trigger and propelling the rocket several stories high. The other was quite good at snatching the launcher away and screaming happily.

We discussed the sympathy appeal of a one-legged pigeon standing nearby. It took us perhaps twenty minutes of staring idly at the fat little thing before a second leg emerged from the downy fluff to scratch at the ground.

We were bored, you see. One can only take so much Iliad at a single stretch.

Besides, the damn thing got yet more depressing today. I went up through Book 11: The Akhaians Get Punk'd. Everyone's been shot or stabbed or speared and Akhilleus is STILL just standing there. Dipshit.

Classes tomorrow.