Getting better

At riding my motorcycle... I'll need to get a picture of the beast before I leave here and post it up somwhere I can look at it later. The thing is insane, 50cc, 6, maybe 7 horsepower, and its got to lug my fat ass around this stupid city at silly ridiculous speeds approaching 45kmh. Luckily the lack of a working battery cell keeps me from having to worry about using the turn signals although the total disregard by other knights of the road for those annoying little blinkers rendered them insignifcant in the first place.

Tomorrow I go to see an enormous phallic object attached to an even bigger statue, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of other fetish lovers. Can't wait, although I can think of better things to do with my time, like sitting around procrastinating for a project I'm supposed to deliver Sunday for my school. A project every teacher feels is a "slight" waste of time, which may be better used getting the kids to "enjoy" learning, something hard to do when all they do is play. And I'm tired, after firmly establishing Thursday american drinking games night in the pantheon of weekly chores by remaining awake until 4:30 in the morning probing friends' and acquitances' increasingly ductile minds for clues as to why their eyes were spinning in opposite, illogical, and ultimately physically impossible positions. After hours of this, we came to the conclusive that we simply did not know, with a minority opinion that we could be drunk.

In any case, 2200 pages into this goliath of a short-term self-inflicted doozy of an epic has slightly worn me out to imagining the 17-18th centuries. Neal Stephenson is... probably insane, but someone has to be so I can read their stuff. Maybe someone will say the same about me someday.