How I Became an Indigent People

As you may or may not have noticed, Laura is posting away like her bus can't go below fifty miles per hour; that's a pop culture reference to the movie "Speed", for those of you who are not in the know. I, however, have clearly not posted anything in days. I could have written something when I returned last night, but I was too busy reading ESPN.com and eating samosas. By the way, if you have any spare samosas lying in your freezer, kindly send them to Evanston. If I am to become Mr. Universe, I am going to have to put on some serious pounds, you know?

This weekend was a wonderful time. It was great to abandon the hellhole that is Chicago in favor of beautiful Connecticut. Alumni weekend really started for me at about 5 o'clock, at the Alumni picnic. I was talking to one of my classmates, who I shall refer to as the Founding Father, when Mad Dog, former dean of students, walked up to me and proferred his hand. Expecting a handshake, I responded in kind, only to receive a rather awkward hug from a formerly rather irritating authority figure. He then looked me in the eye and said, "It's good to see you, Matt."

Obviously, my name is not Matt. When I was a student at Choate, a couple girls told me I resembled a classmate of mine called Matt. He, however, was a lacrosse player and consumate jock; on my best days, I was a decent soccer player and track runner, but certainly not a true athlete. In short, there isn't that much room for confusion. He should probably study a facebook for a few hours before he attempts to solicit donations from misty-eyed alumni.

Ultimately, Shaffer and I decided to get drunk. We shared a McDonald's cup full of Calico Jack (most of which Brook finished) and proceeded to wreak havoc around campus. I remember pushing a UPS box over and watching the whole thing come apart as soon as it hit the ground. I would like to say that it was a gesture of protest, but the truth is that we were drunk and belligerent. I also had the chance to talk to Krusty after his attempt at seducing Laura failed miserably:

"Dude, you fouled out big time!"
"Man, I forgot her name."
"No dude, you fouled out."
"No, you don't know what you're talking about. My mistake was that I forgot her name."
"Which is clearly what we refer to as fouling out."
"Right."

He then waltzed off into the darkness, never to be seen again. Maybe he joined the circus or the cast of Friends in retirement. Dickerson, Laura, Shaffer and I crammed into Halpern's car and took a ride back to his house, where we proceeded to eat of all of his food. In a moment of complete and utter stupidity, I donated my cot to Laura and took over Aaron's couch.

Hard liquor does some strange things to me. Most people, when they are drunk, pass out. I, on the other hand, have great difficulty sleeping. I finally got to sleep at four in the morning, only to wake up at 6:45 feeling nauseous. I also have this tendency to kick things when I am drunk; the couch's pillows were strewn all over the floor. After putting my "bed" back together, I ran into Halpern's kitchen, downed a glass of water and returned to bed. Three hours later, feeling disgusting, I woke up again and joined everyone else for breakfast.

The highlight of the weekend was when Halpern's mother took one look at me and informed me, in her wonderful Japanese accent, that I looked "sick and messed up."

Don't expect any more long, carefully thought out updates like this. This is my half-hearted attempt at matching Laura in the enthusiasm department. I also pledge not to drink for at least three more days.

Listening to: Children's Story - Black Star