The Weight is a Gift

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It seems like I'm fairly set on updating this thing every eight days or so. Or at least that's the pattern I've currently developed. Maybe it's my Jewish heritage that's ingrained this idea of eight day periods in me, but it's probably due in part to my laziness and lack of things to talk about. When your day consists of work and a few stray hours, interesting stories are hard to come by. Perhaps I should spend those stray hours roaming my neighborhood and messing with all of the annoying tourists who've come to ride horsies and hear all about how awesomely old Philadelphia is while holding up traffic for those of us who prefer transportation better befitting the 21st century. I'll hop right into one of the horse-drawn carriages, deck the leader of the group, kick the horse, and then yell "That's how it's done in Old City. Welcome to the OC, Bitch(es)!"

There have been those of you who have been gracious enough to make suggestions as to what I should write about. Exhibit A:

"I also read your whole online diary thing. It was fairly interesting. Though as usual you never mention how much I impact your life. EVER. No Lauren had a great bday weekend or Lauren is so sweet cause she drove all the way up to see Kristin even though it took her 7 hours. Nothing! Only blah blah blah I can't find a house for the life of me blah blah blah."

So, we have one demand for more Lauren-related content. We'll see.

Meanwhile, the day before yesterday was a tragic day for us Penn alums. You see, though we graduated in May, our Penncards expired on August 15th. And since I just received my diploma by mail last week, the last bastion of college studentdom has fallen. Some of you might say, "But Ed, you work at a university! In fact, it's the same university you graduated from, so really you're just pretending to grow up when actually you haven't moved on at all!" And to those of you, I say this: suck it. It's my party, and I'll cry if I want to. You would cry too if it happened to you.

Weekend highlight:
Carmine came over on Saturday, and whilst we celebrated his acceptance into Temple, we waited for one Alexander Gosfield to give us a call and meet up with us so that we could meet his girlfriend. We missed Alex's initial call, and when I went to call him back, I slightly misdialed his number and waited patiently for Alex to pick up. Then, just as the phone went to voicemail, I started yelling at Carmine for doing something ridiculous, thereby missing the first few seconds of the voicemail message. Now, red flag number one should have been the fact that Gosfield never has had a voicemail message. Ever. He's too good for messages. But because the part of the message I did hear was so arrogant, official, and spoken in Gosfield-like baritone, I simply assumed he finally caved and set one up. He did nothing of the sort. So now some random guy has a 3 minute-long message about meeting me at my house, and that he should call my home number. Which, of course, I gave him. And this is precisely why non-sober individuals should be allowed nowhere near phones. Oops.

But for now, dear friends... duty calls.

Song of the Moment:
Bloc Party - Helicopter