Do we need a Partial Milk Abortion?

I went to buy milk last night and found out that it now comes in many grades. I saw skim, half, one, one and a half, two, three, and whole milk.

Is something wrong here? As far as I am concerned, I like Napoleon’s attitude:

"Are you drinking one percent cuz you think your fat, or something?"

"Cuz you could drink whole if you wanted to, you know."

What are our taboos and ideas that could validate a market ploy such as this one towards so many types of milk, bacterial soaps, tee shirt colors, mini socks, ankle socks, tube socks and knee highs? More importantly, with so many types of milk, Qui Bono? Perhaps this petty preocupation with milk subtypes, and the hyperbolic prolifertation of consumer choices for products should be slowed down if not reduced substantially.

A Halo for Sinners?

A transcontinental visit by my good friends SnotBoy and Yeti gave me the perfect excuse to slack off and play. Snotboy and Yeti are in the process of moving from the West coast to the East coast for the pursuit of their happiness and job security. Yeti received an incredible appointment in a top-secret gub’ment institution, so they will be moving to Marry-land.

Congratus to the Brutus of Yetus! You deserve the job and all its trappings. You ARE a giant amongst us. Big Love

Since they used to live in my current town; since Yeti’s sister lives here as well; since they have many friends here; since it is a good rest-point in the cross-country drive; and since they made tracks out of California only a couple of days ago, Yeti flew to the Capitol to be oriented and trained, while Snotboy remained in this lovely town with all their stuff. Presumably, once Yeti has a place, he’ll fly back to pick up Snotboy and their gear and continue their Cannon Ball Run to their new home in Marryland.

With Yeti off, Snotboy and Chops (a local mutual friend) came over and joined me in pushing buttons and toggles on the X-box controllers for a couple of hours. It was a blast; we drank lots of beer, ate lots of pizza, and tormented Snotboy all night for his lack of proficiency in Halo and Halo II.

Nights like that used to be routine in my life, and back then I could endure them with greater aplomb and indifference. Today, in the year I want to finish my dissertation there is something that pulls at the back of my mind. Am I once again tormented by the perpetual feeling of guilt that is indelible characteristic of most Graduate School careers? It’s a sort of background echo that makes one feel like a sinner of sorts. And for me, hanging with the bros (talk about echo: “Bros before Hoes” spoke Rex Bikini) never amounts to outrageous acts vandalism or abuse, all of our combined behavior never amounts to more than a peccadillo. So why the day-after-guilty-of-indulgence feeling?

Conclusion: Me thinks that the Guilt is back and thus I am ready to finish with my doctorate.