Today, like yesterday, our whiteboard was boldly announcing that "Dan is gay". Unless Graham's anonymous friend is stalking Colman Hall, this is the work of some impetuous vandal.

I suspected Greg or The D.J., but both denied it and Nick-From-Next-Door said that the same thing was happening to their whiteboard. Which leaves only one suspect; the drunk and horny jerks from across the hall.

They're actually picking on us. Good gads, I thought that was past me now. At least now it doesn't bother me, as much.

Lunch was boring; even though The Poet's table waved me over, I for some reason sat with The D.J. and one of his generic straight-edge friends. It must have been residual ditching-him guilt.

As I should have expected, we hardly talked at all. These people must have stuff to talk about when I'm not around, so either:

#1. They're intimidated by Our Bold Hero, Social Juggernaut, or
#2. All they talk about when I'm not around is me.

I suppose they did talk, but it was all social pleasantries and such; they must only be able to form interesting conversations when in very large groups.

I did all my homework today, which filled me with a sensation that I can only assume is called 'accomplishment'. It's gone now, but it was great while it lasted. Maybe I'll do it again sometime.

For some bizarre reason, I went to a meeting for prospective Residence Life Assistants that I'd been invited to. I took a form, but I couldn't do that, really. The spoiling other people's fun part would be easy, but the helping people and organizing social activities part… no thanks. Plus I need a roommate; probably not Greg (no offense to him), but just someone to make me think -I'm definitely not ready to live alone.

The last highlight of my day off was The D.J.'s radio show, a Thursday tradition. The D.J., Nick-From-Next-Door, myself, and that girl The D.J. is apparently still trying to set me up with all went to the station and hung out for "The Best Rock Can Be". I think she's coming to her senses now -I tried to be nice but not gentleman-nice, and she did have to listen to me talk for an hour. I think the danger of me breaking the heart of some strange girl is now gone.

I'm really off in that radio room; either it's cursed or out of my element, I guess. One caller wanted them to, and yes, I quote: "pock cunch" me. Well, so much for the entertainment industry. Radio-Dan is a failure, a gay-sounding failure with nothing to say.

It was in general not a great show; we were all tired and I had a bit of a headache. The D.J.'s girl friend had little to say, though she was amused by everything I did, and Nick-From-Next-Door was sleeping on the couch by the end.

Later.