You listen to me. While I will admit to a certain cynicism, the fact is that I am a nay-sayer and hatchet man in the fight against violence.

Now I remember why I wasn't allowed to buy a banjo until I finished my masters degree. Alas, it is now too late, and I'm alternating improperly picking at my new-to-me banjo purchased from a parking lot an hour away, and counting NYT articles from the early 80s that reference AIDS. As of yet the two have nothing in common. But I'm holding out hope. Once I finish this degree I'll be free to pursue the vast playground of my abilities to pass time by myself. I foresee book-writing, banjo-picking, and adopting some kind of odd culinary ability. And reading. And listening to NPR. And producing my own podcast. And practicing yoga. I will be an odd, odd island to my 27 year old self. I think I had more in mind to write when I started this entry, but since I'm on page 6 of my paper, and I can see its completion somewhere in my future, I'm going to sign off and go back to casting stones at the New York Times for its utter reckless apathy towards AIDS in the early 80s. For shame, NYT. For shame.