Fat and gay.

When Mme. Vingeault mentioned to a high school peer of mine that he looked fatigue' , he shot back "I look what? Fat and gay?"

So I guess I'm fat and gay. There's not much news; this is another I-have-a-few-minutes blog post. Between catching myself up on school work Monday night and watching the returns/speeches at a friend's house last night, I am exceptionally tired. I had planned to come home and cook a batch of gloop for the week but instead had a sandwich and soup. I've moved some school work around my desk a few times but it looks like tonight is going to be largely characterized by sleep.

Oh yeah - I gave up on a book that Kristin leant me, a memoir called Travels with Barley (yes I get the reference) with a promise to pick it up when I feel more like reading a travelogue. The book is about one man's search for the greatest beer joints in America. The premise is fun and the first chapter didn't turn me off but I'm not in love so when a copy of All the Pretty Horses sauntered into view, I had to give Travels with Barley the bad news. I am but a man.

I'll let you know how much I like it after more reading.