Jump up from my starbed, make another day.

My cousin once complimented my brother for "not just throwing words down" on his blogspot. But that's what I'm doing right now, in direct controvertion (not a word, but it should be) to my previous post's argument against the minutia of the daily entry. But give the kids what they want, I say. Besides: Do I contradict myself? Very well, I contradict myself. I am vast- I contain multitudes. (A good self-congratulatory panacea of a $2 quote, though previously a $100 quote, whose effect has been diluted by years of misuse and overuse by people who've seen Finding Forrester- the same people who might unapologetically drop a, "Those willing to give up liberty for security deserve neither." My response to these people is, with varying degrees of vinegar, unalterably, "Yes, I, too, went to high school, young man. I can even regurgitate more strangely salient nuggets of learning from high school: diffusion is mitosis over a semi-permeable membrane. The Civil War wasn't fought over slavery. The subjunctive mood is used in situations of imagination and potential. The Louisiana purchase cost $.03 an acre. 'PPF' stands for 'production possibilities frontier.'")

But now for my thoughts and updates.

Mini-OCS is over the course of Easter weekend this year. Real, live Sergeant Instructors will be flown from Quantico, VA to harangue/prepare Marine Officer candidates from the Berkeley, Santa Clara, and Sacramento OSO's two months before departure for the real thing. Taube said this is good, pointing out that Jesus arose from the dead on Sunday. I'm more wary. The bulk of the course will take place on Black Saturday. What are the metaphorical ramifications of that?

It's my birthday Wednesday.

My roommate is very tolerant, considering the amount of sweaty workout clothes that fester in here between laundry days.

I'm about to file my tax return and am debating what to treat myself to once it comes. (But this raises a question. The Internal Revenue Service is relatively convinced that my name is actually 'August William Slagk,' and I've never told them otherwise; in fact, I've even gone so far to ponder what kind of name 'Slagk' would be were it real. I've decided Slovak. Anyway, the North Valley Bank tellers didn't mind, but I wonder if the Berkeley ones will be a bit more hard nosed.) I'm thinking a pair of trousers and some loafers. Class the place up a bit.

I'm done.