"Three hundred sixty-five degrees..."

"Niiiiiiiick! I'm druuuuuuunk! Caaaaaleb! Guuuuuuys!"

The recollection of ululations from outside my bedroom window last night struck me as so bizarre this morning that I thought I may just have dreamed them. Was it possible that I had fallen asleep when the usual bass-thumpings quieted, only to be re-awakened sometime later by some drunk calling my neighbors at the top of his lungs?

Josh's name wasn't shouted, but it seemed unlikely that he, the quietest of the trio, was the source of these inebriated howls. The whole thing seemed unlikely, actually. It was Monday night, for one thing. And those of you who know me know how close to impossible it is to wake me, for any reason; could anything really have been that loud?

Still, the memory persisted, becoming clearer throughout the day. As I was unlocking my bike to head to seminar this evening, Josh startled me with a "Hey!"

"Oh, hi!" I said. "Hey, what was that last night?" He could have given me a blank stare and I would just have believed him and either questioned my sanity or chalked it up to nightmares, but instead he said, "Oh, yeah, sorry about that. That was our belligerent friend. We've banned him from the premises. We almost had to call the cops." At that point, Nick came out, too, and joined Josh in apologizing. Both were very sincere. That bike locking thing has clearly convinced them that I am a force to be reckoned with (though of course my smiling, commiserating, and saying, "I'm just glad it wasn't you guys!" doesn't do much to enforce the evil-grad-student-nerd-that-must-be-appeased persona that would probably come in more handy as far as noise and irritant reduction).

I fret about my neighbors because it's much easier than fretting about things like my thesis, where to live and work next semester, and where to apply to PhD programs.