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Desert Solitaire
by Edward Abbey

Home Again

Well, summer has come and gone. I’m back from vacation, and have a small armada of pictures uploaded. I’ve also started thumbnailing them, as so to ingratiate myself to the bandwidth-challenged, a number whose ranks I have recently joined. So, check out the wedding of Y-Hat and Kelly-Ann, pictures of my summer vacation, more pictures of my summer vacation, or random fragments of my life.
As for that fragmented life, I’ll be starting my first teaching assistantship next week. My mission will be to convice 75 college freshman (that’s “First-Years” to those of you with an overdeveloped sense of linguistic neutrality) that philosophy (and particularly epistemology and metaphysics) is a pretty cool thing. More updates on that as it progresses. I’m also diving head-first into the shallow end of the philosophy pool myself this fall, with three classes ranging from the philosophy of statistical modeling to Wittgenstein. I expect that by December, my brain won’t be useful for much other than participation in marathon sittings of MarioKart 64.

Breakfast At Tiffany’s

Henry Mancini
Breakfast At Tiffany’s

Breakfast At Tiffany's
I actually don’t like martinis. This statement may be heretical in certain circles, but I am standing by it. They taste kind of grainy, and when you add an olive, they taste kind of oily and grainy, like lubricated paint thinner. Not my bag. I’ll take a nice gin and tonic over a martini any day, especially with a little lime twist and maybe some snack crackers with squooshy cheese. Yum.
However, none of this in any way deters my enjoyment of the soundtrack to Breakfast At Tiffany’s. And really, how could it? Whether one is in a leisure suit tossing back gin and vermouth, or in a chicken suit scratching in the yard for the last can of PBR, this is a fantastic album. Lounge banjo? Got it. Need I say more?