Blogspot, who will never be good as your Canadian doppelganger.

I'm sorry I've been neglecting you, but I have a valid reason, given by a simple expression:

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The N only has four or five pieces of original programming, which means we Tivo about seven episodes of Degrassi: The New Generation per night. Needless to say, this sequesters virtually all my free time.

Manny does porn this season. Canadians are so gosh-darn progressive.

Blogspot, you fucking dyke.

The CMJ festival is in town (CMJ = Cumulus Monkey Jamboree).

As hurricanes are fed by the rising water vapor of warm oceans, so is the CMJ festival fed by the envy of biology majors who don't get show passes. Since I live with a music business kid and a writer for a bite-sized weekly, the disparity is all the more apparent. From my perch in front of the television, watching a Tivo-ed marathon of America's Next Top Model, alone, I ooze scorn.

There are good things about the whole affair too! Long story short--Blaire works for Universal Records and they gave her an executive suite and an expense account. She held a party last night where there was a lot of jumping on the bed. Upon leaving sometime around noon today, I jacked an upscale food and wine magazine chock full of recipes, went to Chinatown, went home and cooked the best chicken ever.

(I bought four chili peppers for 50 cents and Joe had to spot me. I am so classy.)

So while you, gentle reader, browse blogs hijacked by stories of the rapture of Arcade Fire or Regina Spektor, remember the little people who spent this weekend doing Genetics homework and cooking for their boyfriends.

Blogspot, king of Prussia.

On day one of my first week of senior year, my iPod broke for no reason, which is nothing new. My tech support consultant has always been an Indian woman--hurray outsourcing. She recommended I send Wanda (name of the iPod) in for a repair I know will be fruitless, like it was with the last three Wandas. I expect my 4th click-wheel to be sent to me by next week, the iPod being not unlike a mail-order bride.

On the bright side, not zombie-ing out on the subway has allowed me to finish books, and not just school-related books, in record time. My roommate Mike is a Sarah Vowell fanatic, and I take secret joy that his signed edition of Assassination Vacation was inscribed with a mere 'To Mike, Sarah Vowell' in big loopy letters. David Sedaris took the time to draw a pumpkin on the title page of my copy of Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim. In the game of Which-NPR-Personality-Signed-Your-Book-Better, I am undisputed champion. Anyhow, I finished Mike's book in one day. Two days later, I am halfway done with One Hundred Years of Solitude--only fifty years left (of solitude)! Haha.

As for today, and every Thursday henceforth, I will have a three hour class at 8AM, which is like watching Titanic half asleep once a week. School is pretty intense. Anticipating this, I crashed at Joe's apartment last night, where I didn't sleep until 2AM because of his roommates' surprise Wednesday night beer pong jamboree. God. Damn. It.

On another note: It's easy to pick out the freshmen at this stage because they travel in huge, socially disjointed clods. Hipster bassist chicks, theatre faggotrons and gross biochemistry majors live together in harmony, if only for another few days. The lion lying with the lamb--it's like the second coming of Christ. Also, the girls all dress like Mary-Kate.