As I microwave my 2nd cup of coffee today, I realize I’m almost out of milk—due in part to the several bowls of cereal and various other cups of coffee + cups of puro milk I’ve consumed these past few days. Girl Scout cookies – almost gone. Cheap vanilla ice cream – finished last night. Peanut butter – already gone before spring break began. For supper tonight, we have a huge head of cauliflower. Yum! as he chokes on his own sarcasm. (But I do think the North African cauliflower soup recipe I found might be at least interesting….) And to think, I considered fasting this week to help gear up for the remaining 8 weeks of teaching 5 classes at 3 different campuses.

Finished grading the exams I gave last week to ensure my students would actually attend class the week before spring break. (Yes, I’m one of those professors!)

Today is the 37th anniversary of the My Lai massacre. And Americans are still shocked when their soldiers are not always the good guys.

Stephen has convinced me that Mel Gibson’s The Passion might be worth seeing with the new, alternate ending. Maybe in this version Jesus doesn’t die. Or millions are killed in his name. And General George W. Bush is not re-elected by those … who still believe in the ooga-booga (yes! the technical term) of Jesus H. Christ.

Last night I stumbled upon the truth of the universe: when you repeat a word over and over until that word loses all meaning (try ladle or spatula for a unique taste of meaninglessness), the meaning that is lost appears in, is moved to, or congeals around one of the other 11 dimensions, imbued with extra meaning, extra significance, super extra signification. Somewhere last night among my multi-dimensional analogues, the ladle was elevated to the level of a local deity. Somewhere, in another universe, someone is repeating ad nauseam “bush,” “war,” “Jesus,” and “muffin.”

Can’t wait to return to school so I can jump on the bandwagon and nominate Paul Wolfowitz “Outstanding Student of the Year.” He does, after all, really really deserve it.

Speaking of nausea, the question of the day: But is Sartre remotely relevant today? All remotely relevant answers will be considered.