Cold-Water Flat

The water heater in my apartment building is mostly broken. It still issues a little lukewarm water to mix in with the cold, but everyone in the building has been taking campground showers: get pumped, get ready, jump in, scrub fast, get out ASAP. Becky overheard in the hall that it won't be fixed until Friday. Along with my goddamn fucking neighbors doing their thumping-clunking thing at night, I'm feeling a little less enamored of my place right now.

Anyway, it's a new term, and with a new term comes new caricatures of professors. The Histcon prof I'm working with this term reminds me of the martians from Mars Attacks: all skin and bones, with this huge brain sitting on top. Or, if I may quote the old Scottish dad from So I Married an Axe Murderer, "it's like an orange on a toothpick!" Anyway, he's a smart guy. Should be an interesting class.

Today the prospective graduate students to the program visit and we all try to sweet-talk them into coming so that we get some clever new friends to hang out with next year. We've got a one-two combo planned to woo them: 1. Don't tell them about or bring them to the bunker. 2. Make them go out to the bar with us tonight and thereby realize just how good-looking we all really are.

To my friends who haven't updated their blogs for more than two weeks: you've been served. Go update. Some of us have procrastinating to do, and you can be part of the solution!