And Whatever Anyone Else Might Say About that Night, *I* Have Never Desecrated a Cemetary

So I felt it was time for a blog post, and here it is. Now all I need is a topic. Topic. Topic, topic, topic.

Sorry.

Anyway, this presents a good opportunity to transcribe for the record last Wednesday night. Since school starts again for me *next* Wednesday, this is probably the end of my "party" themed posts for a bit. Technically, I could have gone out tonight, since a bunch of people are going out for a last hurrah to the local cowboy karaoke bar, which closes for good this Monday. But as regular readers know, I already went recently, and I feel I got the whole experience then. This time, it would be filled to the rosters, and I just don't feel up to dealing with that many people right now. It's even a little hypocritical, since the last time we went, one of the ladies in our party was kind of reluctant, and I gave a big, flowery speech on the importance of seizing the opportunity, going for the experience, and living for the moment. And now that she's putting together the event, I'm wussing out. Sorry, dear, to you and the rest of the group: I know I'd be in great company, but I also know I wouldn't be good company, not this time out. Regrets, and a promise that Stick-in-the-Mud PoC will be out next time.

But right, Wednesday night. It was a grad house party, and I never know how long I'm staying at those things, especially if I didn't come with anybody. This time, I stayed until the dying embers, and had a great time. I think it was party the composition: there was somewhere between a dozen and twenty people there at its height, and I think that's a good number: just right to allow a bit of circulation without being overwhelming. It also helped that the majority of the party was MAs from another non U of Blank program--the remaining PhDs and I banded together a bit, and mixed a bit. It also probably helped that I spent the entire night nursing a six pack of Vex Hard Lemonade. As I was told (repeatedly, in an increasingly slurred tone), it may be the preferred drink for 40 year old female divorcees, but at 7%, it gets the job done.

Is it just me, or do people tend to default back into certain stories and modes of behaviour when party time comes? I suppose part of it has to do with the whole performance aspect: you want to impress people, to a certain extent, or at least make an impression, so you go to what's made an impression on you. In my case, there's a few different things: "racy" Greek myths (I'm looking at you, Tiresias), the Grad student field trip to the morgue, and, the geekiest of them all, the formula.

Every now and then, when I'm inebriated, bored, melancholic, nostalgic, happy, confused, bemused, or feeling abused, I trot out this little gem, aka Person's Law:
2^x+2 + 2^x = 2^x-1 * 10
Now, don't go running to the patent office or anything, because it's actually a fairly banal, basic application of powers. But it's always been a favorite of mine, because I came up with it myself way back in grade 11, from looking at a series of sums another class had left on the board. So, sometimes at parties, or a few other places, I get myself a pen, and play around with some other sums to see if I can come up with any other interesting power/sum relationships.

Arguably, this act may seem antisocial, or arrogant, or showing-off, and I'll admit those are all valid interpretations. Personally, though, I think it's a different form of what I was talking about above. When you go to a party, when you go to connect with old friends and make new ones, you impress with the things that have been impressed on (and in) you. That may be a favorite drink, or a favorite dress. You may show it by pulling out a guitar or pulling out a photograph.

Me? I like stories and numbers. And as far as I'm concerned, that's enough.

(And no; no, beyond the title, you're not getting any more on what happened at the end of that night. Ask someone else. Or buy me a pack of Vex.)

Later Days.