Wow. My 9th longest hiatus ever. I'd like to tell you I've been busy reading cases for law school, so I just did. Anyway, I also moved about five blocks and five years back on the gentrification timeline. Some may call it, lovingly, the "hood". I just call it home. I also call it the place where my bike was stolen on Monday. An old, green Gary Fisher Hoo Koo E Koo, in case you happen upon it. Funny thing happened. I actually did happen upon it. Or something resembling it. After run/walking my Rottweiler/Dachsund mix, I came upon an older lady resting atop a grey Gary Fisher Hoo Koo E Koo - Rock Shox and all. Oh, the tires weren't mine, and neither were the pedals or seat (all parts easily removed), but the bike seemed to be mine. So I asked the lady, who was talking with another lady, about its origins. I told her it was my bike. She told me some guy named "Big Man" gave it to her two months ago (after I told her mine was stolen a just few days earlier). I told her to get "Big Man" and we could both ask him about the bike. She rode off and I yelled to her to enjoy my bike. Later that night, "Big Man" and the lady rang my doorbell. They explained that the bike was in "Big Man's" possession for two years, and I was crazy to think it was mine. I told them that if they were in my shoes they'd assume the same thing. They then left. With a sweet bike with more than likely two layers of paint on it. The cops have been notified. In the meantime, I'm driving to school.

The good news about school is that I like what I'm studying. The bad news is that, for some reason, I was not given the welcome package that everyone else seemed to receive. In it must have been seersucker shorts, Rainbows, palmetto belts and croakies. I had no idea there was a dress code. Boy, did I feel like an idiot on that first day. Not to worry, though, I've made a call to Brooks Brothers and Filson, thanks to low-interest student loans. And I've nipped winter in the bud with an order over at Patagonia. Seriously, though, everyone seems nice at the law school - nicer than me probably - and things have gone well there. Still, it is only week two. By the next time I blig, which could be months from now, I might have a different story.
In other news, I've drafted three fantasy teams. That, along with Guitar Hero, should really help me with my reading. Here's hoping Brees, Westbrook, Maroney and Roy Williams have stellar seasons. Unfortunately, they're not on the same fantasy team. That would be nice. As for other student-loan purchases, I'd have to say The National's Alligator and The Boxer were solid buys. Oh, and let's not forget that hard-to-find Girl Talk Night Ripper. It was once available on iTunes, but I'm sure sampling clearance problems resulted in its pulling. If you like popular music and hip hop, and have ADD, this album is for you. You can count about 30 illegal samples in every song. It's kinda fun actually. My favorite nuggets so far - and they are nothing more than nuggets, averaging five seconds or so - would have to be Neutral Milk Hotel, Weezer, The Five Stairsteps and The Main Ingredient.

In between all of this nonsense I have been able to catch a few Altell commercials. Man, those things are genius. Cookies? More like bakies. Yeah, that makes sense. That whole campaing has flawed logic. If you're gonna get all weird and technical on us, tighten it up a bit. It's not funny; it's dumb. The premise that you don't have to think about wireless so you can think about other things is fine. Not great, but fine. There should be better, more interesting things to come from that well. Like, "I wonder what would happen to my career if I started raising pit bulls and training them to fight each other so that I could gamble on them, and then killing the ones that weren't up to snuff?" Now that's a brain teaser.

So that's what I've been up to. That and scratching my head over the whole Miss South Carolina thing. Yikes. Nothing in reality has come close to reminding me of any of those GI Joe PSAs until that. "Du, du, detective. And you tell me do things and I don't run and." Or whatever he said. Thanks for bringing me back, Miss South Carolina. A palmetto belt awaits your return.