Dance Dance Dance

I am on a dance high after the show. This is bad for productivity, but good for... my calf muscles, I guess. And my hygiene--my mom recently presented me with a gift bag of various self-cleaning supplies (a hint? perhaps). I still smell like Butterfly Flower, which--while I am not exactly sure what that is--is infinitely better than Stale Indian.

Also, the fishbowl-couch area of downstairs Van Pelt is excellent for people watching. I have spent the last hour or so staring creepily outside the window at the hoards of sleepy students/professors/Asian tourists shuffling by. Good to know I am not the only one who mutters visibly to myself when I think no one is looking.



(Whoops, I accidentally posted this on the officers blog at first. It was bound to happen eventually.)