The phone is dead. Is there something they’re not telling me? The view outside my window looks normal, cars are bustling about the parking lot… but maybe the rest of Duluth (and my telephone lines) have been vaporized into tiny radioactive particles and is currently raining down on Superior. How’d you like to be the meteorologist for that one?

“Superior residents should exercise caution, as a recent nuclear attack has rendered the inferior town of Duluth a nasty carcinogenic rain. The ShopKo is currently out of umbrellas, but newspapers are still available at local gas stations.”

Oh wait, the phone wasn’t plugged in. Scratch all that.

Last night offered more strange dreams, filled with zombies and shotguns. It was like the game Resident Evil, which is strange because I’ve never played Resident Evil, nor have I recently been thinking about Resident Evil. Perhaps my zombie dream was developed independently from Resident Evil, but if that’s the case, why was I dreaming about zombies at all? Maybe it was from a philosophy lecture early in year, where Hobbes was theorizing on zombies; people that have all the normal neuron activity in the brain but no conscious state. If Hobbes’ zombie is possible it would suggest that consciousness is not entirely grounded in the physical realm.

However, Hobbes’ zombies didn’t limp around with their arms stuck out, moaning and eating brains and such. Mine did. They also bled a lot when shot at point blank range with a sawed-off.

I’m going to the cabin for the weekend to crank on reading and crank, and to do some sundry laundry. Maybe my parents will buy me beer.

…or a shotgun.

Yesterday was an eventful Halloween. We played our first jazz concert of the year, which was very excellent. The band was the tightest it has ever been, time was rock solid and the songs were s00p3r l33t. A little more energy would have been nice, but a minor complaint, that is. We struck the set, met up with my parents and dog, got Rice Krispie bars and then Mark and I changed into costumes for the Lemondrop. Mark pulled off a slick gangster persona, and I threw on a whole bunch of crap from my closet.

Crazy Eddie shirt, 70s pants, Scooby-Doo underwear on the outside (and free-ballin’ in), climbing harness, powdered blue suitcoat, funny-nose-moustache glasses, kimono, and a thick helping of Dax Wave and Groom. Dax is the equivalent of putting an oil change in your hair. It comes out eventually, usually after a greasy month has passed. This is the junk hippies use to make sure their dreads are always tangled and filthy. Nevertheless, it was worth it.

At the party we met up with a gang of ninjas, and a well-lubricated Chris deemed my costume “Miscellaneous Man”. I liked that. The hit of the evening had to be Luke, who dressed up as Britney Spears. He was a solid display of pop mockery, right down to the pigtails, bulging breasts and a disturbingly tight, leather miniskirt. Luke enjoyed touching himself a bit too much.

This morning I bloodied myself on the wall and drifted into Philosophy late. Exhausted afterwards, I went home and took a two hour nap, where I had a boring dream about American Lit. An exact quote: “Wedgy – pertaining to wedges.” It wasn’t all boring, but the juicier bits will not be reiterated here.

I woke up and went to Lit, which wasn’t quite as interesting as the dream, but at least we finally got our essays back. I got an A. Lucky day.

This evening I have been reading. All that remains now is 50 pages of Douglass and 30 pages of Locke (whom I now refer to as Cocke). And Geology. And Geology Lab. And Journalism. Pretty good progress for 11:53 on a Thurday night.

Hmm. Now it’s 12:03 on a Friday morning.