late night, plus one day.

It's that time. Again. It's the time when I realize I'm up later than I ought to be, that I'm sadder than I have any right to be, that I'm busier than I admit I could be, and that I'm older, fatter, more frizzy, pockmarked, rude, and frazzled than I ever thought possible.

Physical exertion (is it the heat? or is it just that I insist we row in the heat? does eating vegetarian really mean that the heat affects you less?) leads to mental exhaustion (but really, who gives a damn?)... leads to frenetic blog entries (welcome.), reasserts my self-evaluation: Exhibitionist, capital E, with nothing, really, all that great to exhibit (see notes on blog, above.). When I wanted to be normal, I was a freak, and now that being normal sucks, I'm just a quiet geek with a penchant for math jokes and reality TV trivia...

Which reminds me of a great one: What do you get when you cross a duck with a mountain climber? (Answer below.)

And why oh why did I get home at 10:15 and excitedly sit down on the couch for the last 15 minutes of Real World? Hint: it wasn't for the air conditioning, and it wasn't because my couch is super-comfortable.

And that's about all I have to say. It's hot. Damn hot. ("Hottest thing is my shorts... I can cook things in it!")

**you can't. A mountain climber's a scaler. Hey! I've got a million of them. If you liked that one, let me know. Maybe we can talk sometime. You know, Eigenvalues, ... um, lightsabers... Paul Auster... I'll tell you about all the megapixels in my camera, you correct my grammar and take me to foreign countries to see the elephants jump over a fence.