Mortiri Te Salutuum

That's one of the few phrases that actually stuck after two years of high school Latin. Perhaps further indicative of, as I've insisted to my sister on more than one occasion, high school is not nearly as much about education as it is, ultimately, survival. Anyway, we've just returned from our fabulous weekend in Ithaca. We splurged on a gay-owned b&b, where the owner, equal parts angel and sadist, stuffed us to the gills with three course breakfasts. Bless him, he veganized some of his usual suspects and conspiratorially commented that the other guests didn't need to know. So much delicious fatness. Above and beyond, though, was the amazing aromatherapy, surround-sound, five-headed steam shower. Holy fuck. Follow that up with the softest, fluffiest, robe and slipper combo you can imagine and settle in to watch Tila Tequila for a few hours and I'm completely in heaven. I'll save most of the reviewing for Q, perhaps, but suffice it say, we had a lovely time. Cornell brought out my good old undergrad resentment about the total college experience and that breezy, New England sense of entitlement. I'll refrain from elaborating and keep my self-righteous bile to myself. At least for now.

I close with a redirect, for those of you who feel meanly of yourself for not having taken the GRE, or who are, perhaps, mildly nostalgic about the verbal section. You also get to feel sort of smug for sticking it to the corporate world in that really vague, indirect way that websites with lots of ads offer. Also, it's bizarrely addictive. Check it out here, if you dare.