Hah. The presentations all sucked, to varying degrees. Ours was the only group that appeared to be aware that the assignment was hypothetical, and we were also the only group to mention Jeffrey van der Stad (the group that went after us threw in some clearly last-moment “hypotheticals” in an attempt - which failed - not to appear that they hadn’t done their research).

In discussing our group’s negative view to “Dimitri” (who hacked a couple of Microsoft web-servers just to show that he could), I called him a ‘douchebag’ and even had the professor chuckle (the rest of the class exploded in laughter, possibly because they were bored out of their minds by the previous four presentations). Anyway. So, thank you to everyone who commented on that thread requesting assistance. I’d learn how to use Google, but why bother when I have all of you?

Rock & Roll midterm postponed a full week.

Awesome.

(Now, if only it would stop raining long enough for me to get over to 7800 York Road — from Linthicum Hall — dry. Gotta pass … or fail … Chaucer midterm first. Wish me luck).

I was up really late Sunday night. I was up until 4:30. And I had to be up at nine. Work, and then down to campus for the Chaucer study group. I’m so not looking forward to this midterm.

Anyway, by late Monday night, I was pretty much a walking zombie. Although I went over to Geisha’s to watch Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, she kicked me out when I kept drifting asleep. Last week when she came over to watch, I made tacos. This week, she made spaghetti … with no meatballs! As those Italian waiters teased Pauly, “He wants noodles with ketchup*.” It was still good pasta, though. I can’t help but think that if I hadn’t been the-nearly-walking-asleep, I could’ve had a second helping.

So she kicked me out, and I got home about 9:45, and turned on the tv, and got about fifteen minutes into Studio 60 before I got an urgent message from my brain: “Automatic Shut Down of All Functions in Five Minutes.” So I set my alarms (I have two), turned off the lights, staggered into bed …

… and got the most amazingly delicious nine hours and forty-five minutes of sleep I’ve had all semester.

(*Spelling Straw Poll: ketchup or catsup? Seriously.)

I don’t get how stupid you have to be to try to pay for a $5 order of chicken fingers with a one-hundred dollar bill. I don’t get why you looked so puzzled when you were told, “Sorry, we can’t change this.” For one thing, you were the first order of the day, and there’s only like thirty bucks in the till. For another thing, hello? It’s a hundred dollar bill on a five dollar item! Moron.

Actually, it’s all the douchebags who pay for things under ten bucks with hundreds.

And don’t give me the “Oh, well, I got hundreds from the bank, so that’s my excuse.”

When you went to the bank, did it not occur to you just to ask for your money in the more convenient twenty, ten, and five dollar increments? Or did you just think to yourself, “all the really important people pay with hundred dollar bills?” Where you planning on going to Target and buying several hundred dollars worth of crap that you don’t need but also can’t help but buy because Target has that strange pull? If so, disregard, because certainly paying for $300 in merchandise is easier with three bills than fifteen bills, but still — there’s no fucking excuse when the only way you can pay for $5 is with a hundred dollar bill. You should be laughed at mercilessly by people with smaller bills. There could be an underground market and shit: “Hey bub, want $80 in twenties? It’ll cost you that hundred…”