Monday, January 26, 2004
"My head hurts, my feet stink, and I don't love Jesus", as a friend likes to say
Actually, my feet both hurt and stink from 2 hours of dance practice this evening (and 4 yesterday), and some guy named Jesus kept trying to grind with me the last time I was in a salsa club so no, I'm not a fan. I'm now dancing Sunday afternoons, Monday nights, Wednesday nights and Thursday nights, and sitting in on two courses on top of my regular load (and doing readings and homework for all of them, though not the essay for Analytic Frameworks for Policy Evaluation, which is making Grash resent me I think), plus tutoring on Thursdays. Not sleeping enough; I can sleep when I'm dead.
This, however, is a summary of my birthday, which was great (I think I'll turn 29 again next year): my lectures were both highly instructive and beyond hilarious because Larry Phillips and Carlos Bana E Costa teach like an old married couple, bickering and interjecting when the other one is leaving something out, and Professor Lane is ascerbic and cutting. I keep writing down professorial bon mots in the margins in my notes and some day when I have more time I will record them for posterity here. In the evening I had good Indian food with a dozen friends, and while the LSE Colombian student society party was sold out so we didn't get to salsa or merengue or cumbia or some-other-Latin-dance-I-forget, we had fun dancing to really crap music (the DJ sucked) at the Walkabout. Where there was a person of small stature on the dance floor (midget? dwarf? I don't know). As Quentin said, "my night is complete." Personally, my favourite was the couple getting nasty to "Pump up the Jam".
Kevin requested pictures of women that would make him discount things:
