I am not Prince Hamlet

Seauuu, for the second Friday in a row, I've spent the night hanging out in the cafe inside Schuler's (a local version of Borders) with my friend Hannah feverishly doing research for our lit. class papers. Tonight, however, it was painfully difficult to work. For one thing, we were sitting next to the philosopher plush toys and Nietzche was terribly hilarious looking. Even more distracting was couple singing in the concert area in the back of the store. They called themselves The Buffali, and they were awful. Like Harry and the Potters but not funny. The profound chorus to one of the last songs before they gave up went "shut it up, just shut it, shut it up." Then into this terrible psuedo-rap thing accompanied by really mellow (if out of tune) guitar strumming. The only appropriate response was to quote the Mad Hatter quoting the Red Queen: "She's murdering the tune; off with her head!"

When they finally stopped playing, the music on the sound system was Isaac's "they're playing my song" group.

As I waited for Hannah to check out when we were leaving, I noticed this book on the shelf called iPod therefore I am written by Dylan Jones. And there was a chapter called "how 'i' learned to stop worrying and love Jazz."

On the car ride home, a skunk crossed the road in front of us (despite the return of snow to Michigan).

Can you believe all that stuff happened in the span of about four hours? I certainly can't. But it did; I did not fabricate once in that entire recount. I guess that's just what happens when I spend Friday night in scholarly pursuits.

And also,
I was introduced to J. Alfred Pruffrock today. I think he and I may become very good friends.

In a TASPing mood,
-Emma

p.s. Walking around downtown today I saw this attempt to make Grand Rapids as cool as Ann Arbor:


Sadly, I also found out today that the forensics state final tournament will not be at UMich like I had hoped this year, but at Eastern Michigan University, a wart of a campus in Ypsilanti. What a pity.