I swear I saw Richard Simmons at the gym today. There I was, listening to my iPod, minding my own business, when Richard (or his twin) got on the machine right next to me, in all his pink-tank-top-and-short-shorts-glory. Frizzy fro and all. But since I'm not a follower of his, I have no idea if he lives in or visits Vegas. And in the slight chance that it wasn't Mr. Simmons, I didn't want to say anything because people never react well to hearing they look like someone unattractive. Even if they take it with a chuckle, you can tell they go home and cry about it. It's kind of like telling someone they look like Napoleon Dynamite or Rosie O'Donnell. Or PeeWee Herman, for that matter.

I just got home from watching the Ohio State/Texas game with OSU alumni and fellow grad students, Colleen and Zack. I'm not really a big spectator sports person. Zack got drunk. After Ohio lost by one freaking point, we went out to eat. We traded stories about our students, and congratulated Zack for acing the Praxis.