There are strings attached to every single lover
But still they can't tether us together
Listen to the back of the theater
I think they really love one another
There's strings attached to every little lover
--- The Hold Steady, "Banging Camp"
Penultimate Math Methods class today. We got the final exam back. Last week I called it "a joke," and it was, but I still got only a 90. I got everything right up till the last page, where I suddenly went stupid and completely mixed up yards and feet. It was one of those brain farts where you don't really believe that, say, three yards are in a foot, but nevertheless that's what you end up communicating on paper. Thus, my graph was wrong, my table was wrong, and my equation was wrong. I put "yards = feet * 3"! Well, pride goeth and all that, eh Jeeves?
After class, I drove down to the Hangout. I tried to get the Maddening Angel to join me, but she was too depressed. Spooky was too tired. So I joined the Friar at his table with some guy I met a few days ago and Mr. Hangout, the owner. We played a dumb-ass geek drinking game that we invented which entails rating bands. More fun than it sounds, it actually entertained us for quite some time before degenerating into rating other things, such as various girls in the bar. Good times.