When Manney gets malaria we all have to say "quotidian". It's really the only chance we'll ever have to use it so correctly.

I will give a dollar to the first person who can tell me where my subtitle "good tastes echoes from the canyon" comes from. I heard it on a radio commercial a while ago, and I think 'twas for some kind of beer, but I don't know. It's been bugging me for days.

As you can tell, I finished my essay earlier today, in a typically productive session at the library. I just can't work in the room, not anymore; it's permeated though-and-through with no-think. The library, on the other hand, impels me to work, because otherwise why would I be at the library?

Wednesday, as I noted before, was great. Freshman Studies was interesting —though not as interesting as today's exciting installment— and afterwards we convened a Freshman Studies table.

It's a bit hazy who exactly was there; The Queen of Plantz, The Diplomat, The Idyllist, Bollywood, and The Young Lovers were certainly present, however, and we spoke of many things, fools and kings, etc.

I decided to start caring about things, and asked The Diplomat when his Amnesty International club met; being The Diplomat, he seemed glad to shell out the info. So maybe I'll do that next term. Think about issues and such.

That night I went to the Regression Session with Helen, noting that the only sophomore there was an R.A. from Colman. I'm starting to wonder about him, but I guess I find out when I'm a sophomore. Also, Helen made some horrible horrible puns I don't think she can ever atone for. Candyland balmed those wounds.

Thursday, being the day before today, I got up and went to a make-up Qur'an class. Apparently I can't get my final moved up for travel purposes, so I have to wait until late Friday afternoon to drive to the cities and meet my parents and fly to Mexico the next morning. I know a more conservative member of my family who won't be happy, but he'll get over it.

I got my essay subject approved: a comparison of the function of Muses in Paradise Lost and the Qur'an, which is my way of spending seven pages trying to figure out why their are millions of Mahometists and no Miltonians.

The Gnostic Redeemer wasn't there, and Prof Kueny noted that no one was bringing up Christianity. That was funny. I laughed.

Last night at dinner I ran into a gnomish guy with a Weeble-Wobbles shirt on. I had to confess that Weeble-Wobbles are me personal heroes, but sadly he had little to say. He likes them because they don't fall down, I like them because of their stubborn determination not to submit.

Today I woke up, thankfully, and went to class. Calc was necessary, and there was no Qu'ran class. I didn't know that Wednesday though, so now I feel I've missed out on enjoying the last-day-of-class mentality.

Freshman Studies. Today was our last day, and it really showed. Prof. Alger encouraged us to take classes from good teachers, and went through a list of the most respected teachers on campus. Dreyer, Vorrencamp, Goldgar… it was probably the most useful thing I've heard in Freshman studies all year.

Then he asked us if we thought there were any ways to improve the Freshman Studies program, and many of us winced. The Feminist was the first to raise her hand, and rambled on about how we should spend more time on this work and less on that. I agreed with her, but she seemed pretty sure of herself.

The Diplomat disagreed, blaspheming that we spend less time on Things Fall Apart (two days instead of three for a piece of classic literature). A hubbub ensued, and everyone had something to say. The Politician sided with The Feminist, and most of the class came down in the middle. I wisely kept my mouth shut, for the most part.

The Feminist wrapped up the discussion. The Diplomat interjected his own observation. The Feminist observed that The Diplomat had to say the last word. The Diplomat disagreed, and ended the discussion. The Politician agreed that The Diplomat always needed to have the last word. The Diplomat reiterated his earlier view that it was all a matter of personal opinion.

The Politician got upset at this lastwordsmanship and spat: "Fine, you know what [The Diplomat], today's the last day and I don't have to listen to you anymore." The class recognized this as pretty harsh, and though I never correctly interpret The Politician's emotions, I would have to say that he was disgruntled. The Diplomat muttered something in reply.

Bollywood, The Idyllist and I finished our last-day course evaluations, got benignly ditched by Dungeon Master, and headed off to Downer for fish and grilled cheese.

The Table:
The percussionist informally known as Prince stalked me to the table despite my best efforts, and The Idyllist didn't sit with Bollywood for some reason, or visa versa. Project 2501 came by, and with the addition of Roy the Effeminate Heterosexual our table was officially the most ill-begotten in history. No one had anything to say.

Scratch that. Roy the Effeminate Heterosexual was asking, randomly asking, people to have sex with him. I asked him to teach me, to teach me to be as smooth as him. His smoothness certainly needs to be written in my invisible notebook of dating advice.

He asked if I'd have sex with him. What a moron; he's all image and no substance. At least as far as I can tell.

I wrapped up my essay and went to the Union with Greg, The D.J, and Nick-From-Next-Door to attend the Freshman Studies Last Class Party. It was like those festivals we had in grade school with games and prizes, with the social dynamic of a cocktail party. It was, all in all, pretty cool, though I was disapointed when I realized that Greg, Nick-From-Next-Door, and I were being wallflowers.

Much quality random socialization was to be had.

Now I'm off the jazz concert. Ah, it's great to update.