sheet, i haven't been to work since Wednesday...

to the tune of: The Dangling Conversation by Simon and Garfunkel

not that I haven't been working, mind you. But the beauty of remote login is that I've been telecommuting the last couple days of the week. It's so nice sitting on the couch instead of listening to hacksaws and drills all day... but it can't last forever I guess. Alas...

Friday night was supposed to be karaoke in Kathy's honor. But after a surprise hospital visit, it turned into Coldstone in Kathy's honor instead. All's well that ends well, really. But trying to coordinate three cars of people I felt like...yes, like the director of a counter-terrorism unit in 24. Oh I've been watching too much of that show.

Saturday night we trekked all the way off to Oakland to Gaskell's Ball, an evening of "semi-formal" dance at someplace called the Scottish Rite Temple. There's something creepy about going to someplace calling itself a temple outside a religious context. It's quite an imposing building, and walking inside you get the sense that exclusive secret societies meet there. Like Skull and Bones. Or the Stonecutters.

As if to continue freaking me out, the Ball opened with everyone singing "Rule on, Britannia". I kept waiting for the giant British flag to drop down from the rafters, but instead, we all proceeded to march around in this pretentious British march. Which was fun but long. All in all it was a fine evening, with many polkas and schottisches, and a bunch of pompous set mixers. My favorite was the gallop, which was essentially bumper car galloping. So much fun...

The costumes were great too: there were men in top hats and officer's regalia (even a Royal Mountie), and women in period dresses. Hoop dresses remain a pet peeve because the women who wear them require about a meter of turning radius on the floor, and really careful stepping should you be dancing with one.

Today we went to the beach. Nick is holding photos hostage. Peer pressure will get him to send them.

Should I do an honor's thesis? The 23 units of honors-related incompletes in our apartment are perhaps a warning sign.