Rollerskating for fun and profit!

Having just finished watching the first episode of Rollergirls, it has become abundantly clear that I must move to Austin, Texas, and marry one of the rollergirls. Doesn't matter which one, since their shared affinity for violence and alcoholism makes them pretty much interchangeable.

Also, the weather in Texas is probably nice, so that's like a two-fer.

I had a terribly boring day. I started walking to school for the first class of Stats 2: The Legend of Curly's Gold, but after three blocks I decided that it was too nice a day for class and small talk, so I turned back and spent a few hours installing, uninstalling, and re-installing Windows.

Did I mention the small talk? It's getting out of hand. Yesterday I spent as much time engaging in small talk as I did in class. "Engaging" is not the right word; if I were into the small talk, I would be engaging in it. As it was, I was trapped. Hey, here's a tip: if we're having a conversation and I say "Yeah, how about that" more than once, I'm secretly praying for a ceiling tile to fall on your head. "Yeah, how about that" is your cue to find someone else to tell about your $500 graphics tablet (which, honestly, is little more than a cyber-Etch-a-Sketch). I'm thinking of adopting some variant of "Good talk -- see ya out there" as a way of ending conversations.

I'll tell you what: no rollergirl would tolerate the inane small talk I've had in last two days. She'd probably hit you in the head with her forearm, tp your house, and then go country dancing without underpants. (Country Dancing Without Underpants Girl was probably my favourite rollergirl. Ladies, take note!)