Small World Coffee. The sight of my Princeton Chat. You know, the thing all the college pamphlets promise you. They may say, "It's 3 a.m. and you and your hallmates are talking about Descartes," or, "On the green, eavesdropping will yield snatches of Freudian analysis, or a selection of Wilde's epigrams." This had not yet happened to me, until the girls in the awesome quad down the hall invited me to get tea. We went to the cafe and discussed global warming, which fish are the best to eat, etc. 'Twas awesome, and continued over dinner when RussianRoommate, Roommate J and the Downstairs Chatterer joined us. The evening ended with the Downstairs Chatterer's jazz concert, but not before we had been talking about intelligent things for four hours straight. Awesome.
Today. First I finished that French essay, gloriously preemptive, then I got all the roommates to sign a birthday card for Roommate J. Then I sprinted to McCarter Theater and saw Stick Fly, which was a great show. I got the last ticket and had a great seat, but the play, although excellent, was tense and now I feel like I need a massage. Maybe a better review will be forthcoming. But maybe not.
However! I'm looking forward to talking to Subcontinent in about ten minutes.
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Descartes walks into a bar.
The bartender walks up to him and says, “Would you care for a drink?”
Descartes replied, “I think not.” and disappears.
There was this magnificent mathematical horse. You could teach it arithmetic, which it learned with no difficulty. Algebra was a breeze. It could even prove theorems in Euclidean geometry. However, when you tried to teach it analytic geometry, it would rear back on its hind legs, kick ferociously, neigh loudly, and make violent head motions in resistance.
The moral of this story is that you can't put Descartes before the horse.
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