About the Dissertaton 101 class I attended on campus last week: 20 people enrolled. 5 quit before the class began. 15 showed up. 2 walked out during the week. 13 finished, self included. 11 finishers were women. We hypothesized that it’s not because women are necessarily more intelligent, just more hard-headed. It’s an anecdotal hypothesis. Take it as such.
About dissertation completion rates: around 50%. I’ve got a 50-50 shot.
About my house: it’s cleaner than it’s ever been. Dissertation avoidance is a powerful thing.
About making an attempt at keeping up with the Kardashians: what do they do, again, exactly? Best I can tell, they just walk around looking beautiful and havin’ lunch. Heck, I can do that. We’ll call my show, Disserting Dame.
About public restrooms: please flush when you’re done. Only laziness prevents it. And, for Pete’s sake, don’t talk on the phone when you’re doing your business.
About TurboFire: I’m starting it next week. I’m hopeful Harold Camping’s right about a 2011 rapture. It’s my best bet for relief.
About macaroni-and-cheese: I miss it. I want some. This broccoli is just as good, though. On Mars.
About Five Guys: I went there and ate a hot dog instead of a burger. It was sacreligious. And good. Mostly good.
About blogging: it’s been infrequent lately on my part and is likely to continue its sporadic nature due to the fact that the writing of my dissertation/obsessive cleaning of my house has taken its place for the next year. Or 10. Ish. I’m sorry, or you’re welcome, depending on where you stand on the issue.
About Kung Fu Panda 2: Big Daddy took me to see it and forced me to sit through it. Don’t bother. Unless you have a 5-year-old. Or think like one. Big Daddy laughed hysterically throughout. Draw your own conclusions.
About the Bubbe: this is his summer hairstyle of choice. I’m concerned about his relationship with Jesus. He’s out of fellowship, I’m sure.
About the Rolo McFlurry at McDonald’s: it’s a conspiracy, designed to break my diet. I’m a conspiracy theorist.
About tanning: if I sit in the sun long enough, my freckles will converge, illiciting a tanned look. It’s as good as the real thing for those of us with freckles.
About pedicures: when I’m rich, I’ll get one every day.
About Clark Moustakas: he’s my new best friend. I call him Clark Griswold. He’s 88 years old. I don’t think he’ll mind.
About my mother’s recent birthday: I gave her all five Rocky movies ever made because she loves Rocky like a fat kid loves Twinkies. My greatest fear is that she’s going to want to have a mother-daughter Rocky marathon next time I’m in town.
Over and out,