Take that, Rummy!

I haven't all that much to say, today.

"But why not?"

Because all I did of any interest to anyone was a calculus test, and that was really quite simple. I learned that the half-life of Strontium-90 is twenty-nine years. And that last sentence gave my hyphen key a nice little workout!

[INSERT TWO HOUR PAUSE, AS ED GOES ACROSS THE STREET TO PLAY CHESS WITH RENEE]

So... there sure are a lot of drunk people here. I mean a whole bunch. Now me, I don't drink. Never been drunk. Find the whole concept somewhat unnerving; of course, I feel the same way about contact lenses and Linux, so what do I know? I'll tell you what I know: I know that there are a whole lot of drunk people walking the streets around here at two in the morning. They run the gamut from imperceptibly buzzed to utterly hammered, by way of sloshed, smashed, and squibbed. Alright, I made the last one up, but I ran out of synonyms for drunk. Trust me, when you see a whole street full of 'em, you'll run out of synonyms as well. It's kind of sad, really. I mean, while I don't approve of drinking, necessarily, as long as they don't operate heavy machinery I won't get mad. But when there is a pair of ambulances literally parked outside the Golf House, waiting, then something ain't quite right. Ain't quite right on a disturbing level.

Then again, perhaps I'm overreacting. T'was Friday night, after all; when the medics are crouched outside at seven in the afternoon on Monday, that would be the time to worry about the future of mankind as a whole.