After last weekend, when I made myself a late night snack of Moravian Spice Cookies and homemade French Vanilla Ice Cream (the complicated version), I was starting to get illusions of culinary grandeur.

But a quick Google search shows that I not only got the spice cookie recipe wrong — I didn't understand the whole point of the Moravian Spice Cookie. My cooking has failed at the philosophical level.

And I just made a batch of terrible, just terrible chocolate chip cookies for tomorrow's program potluck. I don't know why I'm attending at all; I'm sure part of it was the challenge of cooking for other people, people who haven't been eating either potatoes or spaghetti most nights for the past few months — though if that's really the case, why I did I use the recipe with corn syrup, of all the inanities?

Tomorrow selected Maphiosi will eat my terrible cookies and I will try not to apologize, because now that some of the girls in my teaching class know about my hobby I've been discussing cooking far too often in public anyways. As a general rule, you should talk about your own cooking with the same frequency as you would talk about your dreams.

Speaking of which... really bizarre dreams all week. In this one dream, I was visiting Hamline, but it was Hamline as an acid-tripping ultraconservative might see it, a ridiculous caricature of its charming liberal self. Odd bit of trivia: It's the first dream I've had in which Hamline's Gay Nick has had a cameo.

I used to have this theory that every college had a Gay Nick. Not just someone with a personality Colbert might justly label "gay gay gay gay gay," but such a person who was also actually named Nick. Like many of my undergraduate theories, this was based on no less than two people.

I've since abandoned most of my old theories, and most, but not all, of the theories I got from other people. Still dubious on Graham's theory of intergender friendships, but not quite willing to abandon it, either.

The worst theory I've expressed of late has been "weddings are basically huge parties," a sentiment I managed to bottle up for most of the Politician's wedding. Or at least express in a classier way (e.g. "the most important party you'll ever throw") than how it probably came out when I was talking to Adam earlier this week.

For some reason like four people I get to talk to only very rarely contacted me this week — which was great, but I felt like I'd blogged about "cutting myself" or something — Adam among them. As readers of my del.icio.us linkblog well know, Adam is getting married this summer. Very exciting.

(No, you have to wait for an invite; reading about it on this blog does not mean you are invited.)

One of this week's most entertaining projects (besides the ongoing theoretical work on Literati) has been trying to come up with the most outlandish social combination I'll see at that wedding, which will feature both family and friends. Graham and my father? Jenna's drinking contest with Kittel? I haven't come up with a "these people would explode if they ever came in contact" combo yet, dear reader, but I'm confident I can.