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.