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I've been well, thank you, although yesterday my truck decided at the last minute (as I got stuck in a marshy field) to just give up on the concept of having forward gears, and would only go in reverse, so that was fun. I
passed the 21 mark, which in the states, as you might know, means that I am a man (puts on yarmulke, recites Hebrew in a 13-year-old voice), so I went out and bought some Retsina (for when my first-sister (being Erica) finally arses her way up here), some Irish Crème (great in coffee or black teas) and a few pints of good, English stout (oatmeal stout, actually -- tastes like a bowl of oatmeal, looks like a pint of molasses with a head on it, you should try it). But enough bragging.

From an absolute pessimistic standpoint, it looks like there won't be an England trip this summer from the Uni. There's only 2 people signed up so far, and, with the exception of the European Studies group, which has 9.6
billion students in it, pretty much every summer study abroad tour is going bust. However, that's not going to stop ME from coming this summer: if I can get the funds together (and I have friends who, having friends being
rich, are willing to petition on my behalf), I'm going, and since I'm not actually held to any particular programme, I'll just wander all over Europa if I can manage it (i.e. London, Canterbury, Paris, Aachen (love those crazy
Carolingians), St. Gall, Venice, Ravenna, Roma, and the Vesuvian plain would be a nice itinerary, but that depends on funds and how much the TGV costs/goes).

That's all the news that isn't.

I brunched with Drew, Colleen, Stuart, Amy, and John. We talked about various things, just the general stuff. Drew noted -- while Colleen was off-screen -- that he had officially broken it off with Rachel, a move of which the Sybil in me approved. (It's a very small Sybil. Sybil: "I want to die!" Sorry. In-joke. Go read Petronius.)

I picked up the Key Book, Sennett's Flesh and Stone and intend to spend the rest of the day reading it, with a brief respite around 1630 or so to fry some fish, and perhaps do a page of Latin.

Speaking for the good of the British economy, I'd tax all foreigners living abroad.
I'd tax Raquel Welch, but I've a feeling she'd tax me.

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