Inevitably, someone complained that I had not been keeping up with sober recollections of full scale University debauchery. I apologized, and promised to write more. Enter this post...

Last night was a classic. It wasn't that anything good or fun or exceptional happened, it was more that I got vastly out of my comfort zone, drank to correct for strangeness and ended up spouting wonder on the steps outside my room at 3:30.

It was the last day of sailing for the season and an absolute beauty. A weak northwest wind wound its way through an empty Cranston harbor and puffed longingly against sailboats set against glorious sunsets.

There is much to hope for on nights like that. All of Friday evening lies in front of you- undisturbed, unexplored, undiscovered. I had the quaint idea that I might not drink. I might sit in my room and try what I tired last weekend instead. Edit films until the wee hours, let soccer players who live upstairs have sex til 4 and keep me up crying that it wasn't me.

I did drink. Surprise, Surprise. I ended up playing Mario Kart Drinking on an N64, but frustrated that I could not win or place second for a shot, I got desperate and did 6 shots in the next half hour. I was toasted but not krunk. I rolled through the center of campus drunk and hoping to see Po Ab kids dressed in Western Business for Brown University's Simulation of the Model United Nations.

I had no luck. We rolled back to Keeney and smoked a bit.

Faust and I had already made a go at the green menance. He packed a bowl and asked me if we should do before or after I worked on my MCM project. I said we'd leave to chance. I pulled PLEASURE out of a shuffled stack of Tarot cards and we went off to it.

When I got back to Keeney from whatever it was I was doing (Sigma? Josiah's? Buxton? Grad Center?) I met up with some friends and let them cut my hair. It is half bad. We sat in the hallway and watched clips from Fantasia. Why not? If you are stoned, drunk (i.e. Krunk) and a post modenr heir of the counter culture revolution, then these are the things you need to be doing.

(I look across the quad, with leaves hovering in the crisp November air, and see one of those amazing girls that I would die to be with. She is beautiful always. She is smiling always. She is a Texan, a southerner, and she holds a secret fire New England men cannot resist (understand that the heart of the New England girl is a book of Shakespeare and a pre-destined calculus). She is gone now. Off to something better or more desirable. I am soon after her.)

Riders on the Storm communicates the gentle jazz that is trying to make sense of my stormy soul. Who am I really? Who can I love? I fear finding the truth but missing out on someone to love. What will I do then?

Morning begs off into the afternoon, and I have commitments. Tonight will be no better. I am considering a night of movie-watching in Providence or a trip to Boston. What will suit me? I don't know.

Better go. Life is waiting for me outside the door.