federalist

As Deborah pointed out to me on Thursday, there's a tendency for me to avoid writing about events which occur in direct relation to the amount of late-night fun I attach to them. If for instance, like this evening, I'm up fairly late, I don't arrive back to write anything, despite having a good time. It's not a reflection (in tonight's case) of Fincher, or of anything else, for that matter. It's simply that I'm tired.

You could say the same about Thursday night, Friday night, Saturday night, etc. I had a good time in each case (a too good time Thursday evening!) and therefore was unable to write about it due to time constraints.

The lunchhour presents an opportune time, but Thursday's festivities knocked me off-kilter so I was unable to detail that night on Friday. Let's just say that I went out, hung out with Deborah and Kevin (who had never met one another, despite my moving them on the same day!) at St. Ex. and ended the night on a good note. I'm trying to get Deborah to agree to join me when I travel to Iowa in January, as it would be a road-trip to remember for the ages. Previously, Leto and Sigourney held the record for lengthy road-trips, with Deborah tying both this Homecoming. This could put her over the mark. Sadly, although Helena was part of The Greated Road Trip Ever, most of that time was spent solely with Brad. All the highlights, save for our dehydrated ascent of Mt. Lemon and the subsequent International Line Sprint to Mexico, Helena partook in. She's still somewhat bitter about that, and perhaps one day I can make it up to her. But I digress from the tales of the present to those of the past. Thursday, as I was saying, was quite enjoyable. The next day I was hurting, but so be it. It was worth it.

Friday night I hung out early with Kristen and Friends (avoiding the always-enjoyable First Friday in the process, which was a loss) at a journalist haunt. An interesting place, to be sure. One of Kristen's friend's friends was introduced to me while chewing gum. I hate that. But she was nice, at least. I bowed out from their company to attend my other event near Dupont, with a few friends who have increasingly turned domestic of late. It was fun, but the expectation of an early bedtime was a little lame, for those of a certain age-group. Upon my egress from the situation at an ungodly early hour, I called Kristen to see if her group was still out, but they too had admitted defeat. Little did I know but while underground (for such was the locale I was in) Fincher called and idiotically declined to leave a message, leaving me no trace of her presence later, upon my emergence into the snowy night. As fate would have it, while she wished to get a bite to eat (unable to predict her noodle-laced future) I walked close by, went home, and watched several sleep deprived episodes of Cowboy Bebop. (A fate I may wish upon myself in a minute here...)

Saturday I lazed about the house, did some laundry, and procrastinated in general before my office party. I ended up chilling with Fincher, but as my star-crossed path would have it, I left an hour early to go to my party. Standing in subzero weather for an hour is bad, but doing so with the knowledge that one has forsaken comfort and conversation out of sheer stupidy is far worse. Eventually, the hour hand moved over and I departed for the wilds of Bethesda. Our office party was fun, a welcome change where most of the cool kids were allowed to hang out together. It ended all too early, yet my body was refreshed to learn it would get some extra sleep out of the deal. No winning time for these players, if we must call them that.

Today I arose late, prepared to do some canvassing, yet noticed that the Ravens were playing, and so watched the game instead. With the victory today, we've now moved into first place and stand on the verge of winning the division for the first time in Raven's history. (Yes, when we won the superbowl we weren't leading the division...) That was fun.

In the afternoon, I rolled to Ben's to meet Gwyn and friends. The crew of regulars has grown so small as to be an impediment to the actual amount of work being done. Evidently we've spent some time laboring as to a rally the week before the primary. I'm happy that we'll be enjoying a party but it seems somewhat premature in lieu of actual work. However, being one of the four people there, I suppose I can't complain to them, can I? Later this evening Gwyn noted that the name of my letter-writing tool sounded somewhat inappropriate.

To be clear, for all you non-Poly Sci majors: publius was the pseudonym under which Hamilton, Madison, etc. wrote the Federalist Papers. You know, the rationale to endorse the constitution? Yeah, Gwyn was right: it sounds like a dirty word. So I changed the letter-writing tool to the far more austere: federalist. Gwyn also provided me with a list of several enhancements which will far outstrip the simple goals I set for myself several weeks ago. Oh, well. I guess I'll have plenty to work on later today.

The time, of course, is because I hung out with Fincher and managed to knock off Stephenson's latest tome. Hopefully I'll review it shortly. But for now, the jazz-pop melange melodies are calling, to be followed by a full systems crash.

I'm currently working on federalist, a letter writing tool which can be adapted for any database of names and addresses. Specifically, I'm working on it for the DC for Dean volunteer group, but theoretically it could be used for anyone. If you're interested, go ahead and give it a whirl. The addresses in the database are fake, so don't sweat that.