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I'm going to have to scrounge for help on my calculus tomorrow. It's forking confusing and unclear.
I'm back in Phoenix, at any rate. The flight sucked, as I already had a tension headache to begin with before we even boarded the plane in Texas. I spent the flight to Las Vegas reading the college report and giving myself an even worse headache. Las Vegas airport smells like an ashtray, especially the B-terminal, for some reason. Tobacco in the abstract does not smell so bad, but something about cigarette smoke doesn't agree with me. Lotsa slot machines, though. On the flight from Vegas to Sky Harbor I helped Rachel with her algebra, and she claims I'm the best tutor she's ever had, so score one for me. Hopefully the kids I have to tutor in physics for community service think the same.
I had an odd dream last night. Anybody remember David (the David I talked to for, like, five minutes) from Anime Expo? I dreamed that when I knocked on the door of some-odd-friend I had made (I think we were in Pampa), he answered the door as her brother and looked rather swarthy and irritated, like the gay artist kid in Wedding Crashers. I asked him if he was who I thought he was, and he said, "My name is George; you got it wrong, bitch." Then he tried to kill me. Seriously; for some reason the Rofflecopter had a sunroof, and David-George spent quite a great deal of time trying to climb through it while I was driving, legs-first, so that he could kill me. I think he had a handgun or something useful like that.
Somebody in psychology or studying Freud or Jung in greater depth than I have, tell me what the hell that means.
Well, the other night I dreamed that the Nerd Herd was fishing out in the Gulf of Mexico with Hurricane Rita approaching, and I had to fly over there and warn them to get the heck out of dodge before they drowned.
Oh, on Saturday I saw Flightplan with Mom and Rachel, since Sean Bean is in it and Mom fancies him, and there is nothing else to do in Amarillo but see movies. It was a better movie than I thought it was going to be. Jodie Foster did an excellent job as usual, though I was sure I could catch snatches of her Clarice Starling / West Virgina accent at some points, and her character was supposed to be a New Englander who had been working in Germany. All in all a good weekend for movies.
I'm back in Phoenix, at any rate. The flight sucked, as I already had a tension headache to begin with before we even boarded the plane in Texas. I spent the flight to Las Vegas reading the college report and giving myself an even worse headache. Las Vegas airport smells like an ashtray, especially the B-terminal, for some reason. Tobacco in the abstract does not smell so bad, but something about cigarette smoke doesn't agree with me. Lotsa slot machines, though. On the flight from Vegas to Sky Harbor I helped Rachel with her algebra, and she claims I'm the best tutor she's ever had, so score one for me. Hopefully the kids I have to tutor in physics for community service think the same.
I had an odd dream last night. Anybody remember David (the David I talked to for, like, five minutes) from Anime Expo? I dreamed that when I knocked on the door of some-odd-friend I had made (I think we were in Pampa), he answered the door as her brother and looked rather swarthy and irritated, like the gay artist kid in Wedding Crashers. I asked him if he was who I thought he was, and he said, "My name is George; you got it wrong, bitch." Then he tried to kill me. Seriously; for some reason the Rofflecopter had a sunroof, and David-George spent quite a great deal of time trying to climb through it while I was driving, legs-first, so that he could kill me. I think he had a handgun or something useful like that.
Somebody in psychology or studying Freud or Jung in greater depth than I have, tell me what the hell that means.
Well, the other night I dreamed that the Nerd Herd was fishing out in the Gulf of Mexico with Hurricane Rita approaching, and I had to fly over there and warn them to get the heck out of dodge before they drowned.
Oh, on Saturday I saw Flightplan with Mom and Rachel, since Sean Bean is in it and Mom fancies him, and there is nothing else to do in Amarillo but see movies. It was a better movie than I thought it was going to be. Jodie Foster did an excellent job as usual, though I was sure I could catch snatches of her Clarice Starling / West Virgina accent at some points, and her character was supposed to be a New Englander who had been working in Germany. All in all a good weekend for movies.
