The Damien Clause

Final Art History class today. Five classes, four semesters, one nasal professor. Over.
Watched a movie in class in celebration. Not the class, mind you, just me, Chris, and occasionally our surrounding classmates. I haven't seen it any other way, but I'm pretty sure the optimal method for enjoying Bad(der) Santa is with the sound off, during a lecture on Impressionism.
Don't get me wrong, I HEART art history, but Carol has a knack for sucking every last morsel of fun from it, and Billy Bob Thornton fucking the bejeezus out of Lauren Graham's body double in a jacuzzi puts it right back in.
Also my last day (for now) of assisting for six hours at the end of an already long day. It was refreshingly uneventful, but I did throw on Michael Jackson's Number Ones (or something), and Sean and I broke it down on opposite sides of the studio while Jessie and Anderson toiled at the furnace. That album has become a favorite in the hot shop because it provides a chronological auditory tour through the genius and madness of the great Michael Jackson. And the first 7 tracks or so just rock the fuck out.
Don't. Stop. 'til. You. Get. Enough.
My final blowslot of the semester is Sunday afternoon, then I'm just a loser with no purpose in life for another month and a week.
Wholly looking forward to that.