Let's come up with one word summaries for the usual, and a paragraph for left field.

Research: Encouraging.

Stat test on tuesday: Breezy.

Personal Life: Decent.

Svelt updating. It's like the 31 days of Jesus or Santa or something but without chocolate.

- - -

Ok that was painless. Potentially more later about nearly getting run over by a taxi, nearly getting hit by an oncoming rush of cars due to a cop that couldn't turn to save his ass, and my phone vibrating more lately than a Jolt-U Ultra Haxxor Flesh-Colored--

One word, damnit, one word.

- - -

So the thing on my mind is vacation. Yeah yeah I'm a fucking workaholic and the sky is blue. But I would like to get the hell out of this town for awhile.

My options are 1, given that: 1) I no longer know anyone at Oberlin and I can't say I'm keen on seeing Ohio in winter; 2) everyone I know in Missouri is either engaged, insane, or preoccupied...well that and I haven't heard from any of them in ages; 3) Boston is too goddamn far; 4) California is goddamner farer.

So my remaining option is Detroit. Yes, Michigan's neon green hooker of urban sprawl, cat corner artist freefall, and more abandoned buildings than the national guard can shake sticks at.

But I love the place and the people. J, Nicholas and Tom want my ass to visit. J has gone so far as to threaten to come down here and pick me up, but I'm pretty sure that was outta jest.

The problems with visiting for a week to Detroit are (because I'm lovin' this numeric listing thing):

1) Money.

I am a poor motherfucker. No apostrophes or cute slang, just the snow-cold truth. As it is I barely have enough to pay for food and bills every month. Adding enough gas for a 6 hour trip is kinda 'eh'.

But what's that you say? Only 25-50 bucks, you cheap fucking tool bastard? Come on!

Alright, you got me. #1 ain't the main reason.

2) My Car

My car, however, is. I got my Buick back in Los Angeles, around 3 years ago. It's been good to me; I've vaguely been good to it. For 4 days of fun we swam along the toxically boring and beautiful landscape, coasting over the left tit of this great nation state. Alas, even back a year and a half ago, the transmission on the car was acting odd. Fast-forward to the present day and my car firmly has some issues.

First, I have to wait 10 minutes until the thing heats up to around 200 Farenheit. Until it does so, the engine revs at 2500-3000 rpm. Mostly cars start at, oh, 1000-1500. It does not make happy sounds while heating up. I'm also not a fan of when I'm driving and suddenly, my car's rpm drops dramatically, shit gets a little jerky, and I could swear I've fallen out of gear. This doesn't happen much or, when it does, much badly...but riddle me this:

Would you drive my car 6-7 hours--through the armpit of Hell known as the Chicago beltline and that fucking obnoxious Illinois tollway--all the way to Detroit?

Those would be my shoes. Size 11-13. Yes, I've heard that joke too.

Now a reasonable person would find a trasmission place, get my car inspected, and hopefully get whatever is wrong repaired. The trouble is, reasonable people don't become graduate students and try to live off of poverty wages. This is not an exaggeration.

So that leaves me with either saying no to my friends and spending Christmas alone at a Chinese restaurant (hey, it is a holiday tradition shared by millions of Jews), asking my mother to shell out more money for my broke student ass, or getting a Deus Ex Machina amount of cash. Actually 3 people owe me a Deus Ex Machina amount of cash. Sadly all three are dirt broke and have no job.

I really don't wanna ask Ma for cash, or Gran or Scott for that matter. I already got a grand from Ma a month or two ago, and I'm hoping that'll coast me to the summer...where I promptly take out a small loan and occasionally wonder why in the fuck my advisor never wrote in money for a Research Assistant in any one of his grants. It just seems a tad peculiar is all I'm sayin'.

So in essence I'd love to see Nicholas, J and Tom, check out the latter's new pad, hang out and do photography with the former (or all of them if they're entertained by that), and freeze my balls straight off in one of my favorite cities.......................but ain't life a bitch.

Now I flip off the switch,
to this rambling,
called consciousness.

Zzz-fucking-zzz. Fin.

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