Who needs the Kwik-E-Mart? I doooooo!

This is either really great or really awful. I can't quite decide.

Real Kwik-E-Marts? Woo-Hoo!

7-Eleven may convert some stores to coincide with 'Simpsons Movie'

Sign You Need a New Apartment

So, okay, Safeway had this killer sale on cereal the other day. Given that Cheerios are my chief form of sustenance in the morning, this was major news in my humble little life. So I went to Safeway, pranced out proudly fifteen minutes later with the requisite four boxes of Cheerios to qualify for the cheapie price... and then came to a realization: because my apartment is so damn small, I would have to store the cereal in the trunk of my car, pulling out a box at a time as the one in the kitchen emptied.

Holy crap, it is so time to move.

No Sex Please Weer Britsh

So read—verbatim—the marquee of the Fauquier County Community Theater, where I went last night with my friends Tiberius and Fluffy. You see, every couple of months the three of us gather for a Classy Evening Out, a title laced with irony, as our events are usually a step or ten below ‘classy,’ but which are entertaining in their own way all the same. Examples include a single-A baseball game in exurban Maryland (ask Tiberius about the ‘Mountain Ninjas,’ as I’m still too scarred to discuss them) and Schoolhouse Rock adapted for the stage.

Last night was along the same lines as the latter example: a community theater production (a good 60 miles outside of DC) of ‘No Sex, Please, We’re British.” I quite like community theater: there’s an earnestness and purity to it that makes it really charming. That, and it’s impossible to get a bad seat. And the troupes also seem more willing to take chances on random plays that no one’s attempted in decades, such as the little gem they dusted off last night. Admittedly, I use the term ‘gem’ generously; there are often good reasons why some plays are done less frequently. I think Fluffy summed up last night’s performance best when, during intermission, she observed, “This is like ‘Three’s Company’ for the stage.” And—wow—it really was. When it was over, Fluffy also noted that there’s a reason why “Three’s Company” was a half-hour show. I seriously kept expecting Norman Fell to be the next one to ring the doorbell. Still, it was a good time with surprisingly good British accents coming out of the mouths of a couple of the actors—not bad for a theater that couldn't get the marquee right. Now, of course, we need to start planning for our next Classy Evening Out. I’m thinking that the six-month-long DC Shakespeare Festival may have some offerings, but we’d have to balance the actual dignity of such an event with dinner at IHOP or something.

But... why?

I wonder that myself. What's the bloody point of this blog, anyway? I had this recent (paraphrased) conversation with my webmaster friend:

WF: You need a blog. With ad revenue, you'd make a mint either blogging about information for which people would pay [e.g. compiling and summarizing news articles about the latest goings-on in the widget industry] or on, say, life as a sports fan ex-pat in this town. Plus, you have the whole chick-as-sports-fan angle, which is less common than otherwise in the blogging world. The trick is thus to find your niche. What about writing about how the whole PhD pursuit is an agonizing drag through the bowels of hell? [WF has a PhD himself, so he knows of what he speaks.]
PSK: But, WF, I'm a dilettante! I have the attention span of a puppy! There's no way I could keep interest in a blog about one particular thing for any longer than a few days. I'd write a bitchin' blog about widgets and/or PhDs for a week or so, and then I'd discover something shiny on the floor, let the blog atrophy, and then any ad supporters I may have had would storm my apartment with torches and pitchforks. So... no.

So, in short, this is a blog about nothing. But that's not to say it doesn't have a purpose. If anyone actually is reading this, it means you're probably a friend/relative/well-wisher of mine, wondering where the hell I've been and why I haven't been in touch. To answer your questions: (1) I've been in the seventh circle of academic hell; and (2) I find that I think of calling/emailing people only at the absolute most inopportune times. To wit: "I really need to call my cousin in California; I've been a major flake on that. Where's my phone?" Except--wait--I can't, because it's 9am here on the East Coast. Stuff like that. So, anyway, this blog is sort of meant to get my brain some writing exercise now that I'm done with classes... and thinking very seriously about leaving this whole academic slog behind to indulge the part of my brain that is screaming at me to write a novel (even if only for me). But if it has the side effect of keeping you posted on what's up with me, then I guess that's a good thing. Don't come crying to me, though, when every post begins with something like: "If I have to analyze one more crappy article about political this or military that...." Because it's inevitable, people.

[How did I end up with horse racing on the tv? I have to find SpongeBob or something.]

Crap! Look at the time. Off to the supermarket (asparagus is on sale! avocados, too!) and then the gym, and then to meet with some friends in the 'burbs. Toodles until then.

This'll last all of a week

I don't know if it's something in the air and/or water, or if it's a phases-of-the-moon thing, or if it's some latent (now manifest) anxiety about losing an hour of time this weekend, but I finally got off my arse and got back to blogging. I know that not a soul is going to read this, and that's cool, but if it keeps me off the streets and out of trouble, then all the better.

That was an inauspicious beginning. But, hey, cut me a break--I woke up all of ten minutes ago with a punk version of Barry Manilow's 'Mandy' going through my head. And no, I have no idea why. I'll take it as a good sign that this'll be in an interesting day.

For now, though, breakfast awaits.