According to my ancient Reader's Digest dictionary's quotation section, procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday. I find myself having a hard time keeping up with two months ago.

Yes, it is once again that time of the year when college professors begin to walk with an odd sort of glee and college students wander aimlessly, flashing rather frightening glances around. And, of course, the time when things that should have been done long long ago are due. Namely, papers. Even more namely, physics papers on that wacky effect so keenly dubbed by the press as "quantum teleportation". I have dug through more articles that start with the words "Beam me up, Scotty" than there are achingly trendy fifteen year olds at Mr. Rags. And that's quite a lot, I can ensure you.

Of course, I'm lying. In fact, aside from digging up the handful of articles necessary to use as background information, I've done approximately nothing. Aside from chatting a bit at TrekSunday, which more of you really should attend. And listening to my tiny MP3 collection. And watching the last half of Schindler's List.

I mention the tiny MP3 collection in order to set up this clever transition to my complaining about the recent and memorably Crash of '00. Or charmingly, the Crash of aught aught. Or less charmingly, the day my hard drive spit its last breath at me. That's why I was gone for a few days, not that anyone noticed. That's also why I still can't get my old ICQ number back, again not that anyone noticed. Heck, I didn't even notice, being too busy not working on my very important assignments. But the number is still down, for those of you who might have wondered.

Luckily, I have another computer and a friend wise enough in the ways of Windows to save most all of my data. But...not all of it on this machine. (Now featuring a new old hard drive. One that I actually thought was faulty not less than six months ago. But that's a tale for another day.) So rather than having hundreds of TMBG, Soul Coughing, and assorted other songs, I now have five. Four by Camper Van Beethoven and one by The Magnetic Fields. Incidently, this is my first exposure to the former, and I highly recommend everyone go out and buy all of their albums.

But MP3's only serve, like this post, as a distraction from my assignment. Wait, scratch that. From my two assignments. Argh. I mean, argh! Nevermind. It doesn't really matter, I suppose. Just another sleepness night with no one to blame but myself. And no ICQ, of course.

On a somewhat brighter note, it appears that I may actually be gainfully employed as something other than a field laborer someday soon. Maybe. A highly qualified maybe. A local internet startup is in search of a writer with a "unique and energetic style", which seems to suit me. Well, people have said it's unique, anyway. Though they usually follow that with such discriptors as "weird", "uhh..." or "icky".

Also, my first ever poem to be published is going to be published this June, I believe. Of course, I'm not getting paid for it. (Maybe. It's part of a contest I entered, and we're still in the semifinalist round, so I might just one $1,000, but I doubt it. At least, I wouldn't wager much on it.) Also, the poem is appearing in a large and unwieldy collection that is also expensive.

But, because I am at heart a man of the people, I share/inflict it on you for free. Also because I love each and every one of you.

"Manhatten"

Like the rain he came
Sliding up through Central Park
And on his hat a name
Manhatten

And underneath his hat
An unkempt frothy mass escapes
Bearing forth a gnat
Named Manhatten

This gnat has traveled far
Has abandoned all its friends
Around some gnatty star
Classified Manhatten

And 'round this mentioned star
A rocky little planet flits
And on its skin a city sits
On an island called Manhatten
--

Please, withhold your accolades and rotten fruit till the end of the post.

Anyway, that's about the size of it. I just thought I needed to avail myself upon your waiting eyes. Thanks.

It's the end of the world as we know it!

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Let's see... Mesmerists, Dowsers, Luddites, Alienists, Zoroastrians, Alphabetizers... A-ha! Assassins...
~C. Montgomery Burns

And be sure to visit The Field Marshal project http://fieldmarshal.virtualave.net/

Try and work solo photon diffraction patterns into your paper. Try and come to the naughty conclusion that photons must "interfere with themselves"

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Monty: "With every drink of that pint more of his cognitive functions atrophy!!"
Classmate: "Wha? What does that mean?"
Monty: "Which word?"
Classmate: "Any of 'em!"

And my collection is not lost. Just currently unavailable.