what the devil is up with this music?

to the tune of: Once Upon A December by Anastasia

There's nothing quite like the feeling you get waltzing with a woman who closes her eyes. Entrusting her safety entirely to you, she wants to get lost in the moment and feel the motion and the music. Of course, one way of looking at this is she doesn't want to gaze into your eyes, which is also a fun way to waltz. But it's far better than the ones that get a petrified look on their faces and spend the whole time darting their heads back and forth, as if she really doesn't trust you. Don't get me wrong--it's perfectly natural for follows to contribute to navigation. And understandably, after being crashed into a wall or something by a hapless lead you might have a legitimate right to be suspicious. But really now...

That waltz, plus a few entertaining swings, waltzes, and cha chas with friends (and a couple games of waltz tag) were the highlights of Friday night. The DJing was pretty bad, the music was often awful, and there was this drill sargeant-type who felt the need to bark out each dance and orders for the cross-step mixer. Between him and the dance lesson at the beginning it felt much like a high school gym class. But I still had fun.

This week, for the first time in my Stanford career, I actually went to Green and checked out a book. I had to fight through a gaggle of bathing suit-clad middle school girls emerging from The Ring with big grins on their face. I didn't really have the heart to tell them about Stanford fountains... The book? Harry Potter. Yes, I know. I had to see what the fuss was about and judge for myself. Kathy was impressed, asking me each time she saw me online whether I'd finished it yet. (The answer, sadly enough, is no, because activities with other people--which somehow keeps meaning "video games in the living room"--trump solitary reading.) Yune was not pleased.

This week I got to unlock--and lock--the Robot Learning Lab. With my key. Very exciting. Not quite as prestigious as the offices my friends scored. But then they don't get the pleasing sounds of a hacksaw to code by. I have to climb over various robot innards to get to my desk, and have grad students reaching over me to retrieve parts every hour or so. But... I finally have a place to work, and beggars can't be choosers, eh? I may need to acquire an iPod (or a cheap iPod knockoff) to maintain my sanity at work...