In my fourth year of college ('99 - '00), my favourite Friday nights were the ones where I had nothing to do. I remember jogging home through the nasty cold near midnight, having just spent a few hours sucking it up at the trumpet in the practice rooms. My roommate, Kelley, was gone every weekend perpetuating his Demolay cult through his position as Statemaster Councilor, so things would be pretty quiet. I would cook up a double helping of Ramen noodles in the hot pot for a midnight snack and then settle in at my desk with some music and a book, or maybe converse with my network of clowns online, but mostly I would peoplewatch.

I lived in a dorm shaped like an "H" for the first four years of my college career, and in the fourth year, my room was in the armpit of the H (or crotch, depending on what you'd consider the proper architectural terminology). Because of this, I had a Rear Window view on seven stories of teeming humanity in the opposite leg of the dorm. I could sit there for hours, just watching people come and go, get ready for parties, sleep, have fights, watch TV, or turn out the lights for some amorous amity. I wasn't really interested in the voyeuristic aspect of it -- what amazed me (and still does) is that every single person in that personal theatrical production had their own lives and their own stories. Each person had a timeline of twenty odd years just like I did, and friends and family who also had individual stories, ad naseum. Most of those people I never met, but they're still out there, adding to their stories while completely oblivious to my own.

Today's funny video from my archives is this heartwarming clip about the dog who finds out that his poodle girlfriend is a slut (4MB MPG)