The Aftermath
I appear to have passed my qualifiers. Now, I could make a self-effacing joke along the lines of indentity mixups or telemarketing survey responses, but the exam was probably the most difficult intellectual event I've confronted thus far, and I do not want to cheapen its status as such.

This past weekend I squandered my new-earned freedom by immersing myself, once again, in the depraved act of moving. I shouldn't say depraved - because at this point I am sufficiently ashamed of the bulk of my material possessions to (i believe) not deserve a sneer from the non-materialists; Still, I remain loyal to what can only be described as far too much stuff. The only reason I am comfortable identifying at this point is superstition. I've been on a good run, hot hand... my shambolic collection of too many clothes and too few inspirational artifacts has been playing like a loose slot - and I don't want anybody else to get a pull. Every day is a (one-armed) bandit day.

I also attended a wedding ceremony, and subsequently the reception. The ceremony was Russian Orthodox, and completely unremarkable otherwise. !Insert_name + #Column2 = $$BaldManHymning. The only mildly engaging portion was when two crowns were teasingly held over the betrotheds' heads by a rotating squad of sore-shouldered bridesmaids and groomsmen for what seemed like a 18.4 minutes. Were I more susceptible to the odd perversion, I may've described it as vaguely arousing. I was the only one in a short-sleeved, non-accompanied by a tie shirt. Everybody was happy. I felt traitorous.

Uh oh
Oh dear - it's been almost a week. A chronicle of my activities is a difficult compromise between my activities and their chronicling. And right now I'm in the midst of my PHD Qualifying exam. I've compared it to the Bar Exam, the Boards, and the NASA Centrifuge. That'll have to do.