Sinister: baby, it's game theory

[kmhyde at xxx.edu]

Hi everyone, 

I recently re-acquainted myself with the amazing stress 
involved with looking for a new place to live. My current 
roommate is leaving this husk of a town to move in with his 
girlfriend of 6 years (what a selfish thing to do), so that 
they can join their bank accounts into one massive and 
unstoppable juggernaut of hundreds, perhaps thousands, of 
dollars. The worst portion of this whole sordid affair being 
that I had to find myself a new roommate, and oh yeah, when 
you're 23 and still in the same town you graduated college 
from and also working for said college, it is not easy to 
find people of your same age or, say, bathroom-cleanliness 
disposition. But I did. So but the other day, my future 
roommate and I were looking at this place just around the 
bend from my own apt. complex, and it was fantastically bad. 
The first thing I noticed was the smell, which basically 
leapt right out and smacked me around a little. Imagine a dog 
who has been trying to perm all her fur with a set of faulty 
curlers, and has also recently taken to bathing in 
undercooked beef stew. Also imagine a casserole made of 
melted crayons and Parmesan cheese vomit, which has been fed 
to a small herd of aging and dyspeptic cows. Now, make the 
dog and the cows be roommates, with both animal-parties 
confined to very small areas in the house which suffer from 
jungle-y high levels of humidity. That is the smell we 
encountered, except tangier. And more unforgiving. I don't 
think I can say enough about this, I'm sorry. I really need 
to diffuse the sensory pain this caused me. 

I'm going to Minneapolis on Sunday, flying out there for a 
conference. A work conference, in case you were wondering. 
One which will involve attending a little thing called the 
RUFFALOCODY 5K FUN RUN/WALK IN THE PARK. Oh yeah! I'm going 
to do my fiendish best to walk as briskly as possible but to 
also smoke many many cigarettes along the way. Possibly a 
whole pack. I find that many health-nuts are confounded by 
this sort of paradoxical combination, which is almost at an 
Alanis Morrissette's 'Ironic' level of mind-fuckery. Dude, 
it's like ten thousand spoons when all I need is a shiv. 
Anyway, the real point of this is to tell as many people that 
I will be on an airplane for the first time in 11 years, and 
if you don't hear from me again, that means I'm dead or 
living in Minneapolis (on the whole, I'd rather be in Philly 
though). 

I was going to type up a question I had about ostensive 
definitions and sets and such, but then decided against it as 
it would make me not only a hardcore pretent, but also a nerd 
to the nerdth power. yikes. I like motors and leggy dames, 
that's what I actually meant.

off to gird my loins, 

Kevin 


    
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