Dragons

Well, my grand old tripartite training plan has officially gotten fuzzy. This week I ran, like, a few times. I'm feeling pretty good about my running as it is, but I do nonetheless count on my Mud Run performance being in the range of ugly to fugly. This week a number of persons more sensible than myself joined the bachelor's degree-holding community--congratulations are due--and I was on hand briefly as an auxilliary celebrant. I'm afraid the highlight of the weekend, though, came just a couple of hours ago, when my dad gave me a Dixieland jazz mix tape. I tell you, nowhere else have I heard music so ebulliently affirmative of capitalism without sounding bowdlerized or unintentionally foreboding. I could happily devote my life to investment banking if only I could work for a company that piped a constant stream of Dixieland through the building.