Last year was a tumultuous one. But early on an unshakable triumvirate was formed, and three girls moved into a room tucked away in the recesses of CZ’s two-hundred’s floor. Thus began the drunken revelry, early mornings rosy through our curtains, the smell, the mess, and awesome lighting. The following are in no particular order, and serve mostly to satisfy an addiction to nostalgia.

Patrick’s beardless face, shortly after I met him.

We heard Gillian Welch play.

Two hairy beasts.

A sunset in the Sunset.

Virgilio! Occasionaly bordering on the sleaze, but lovable.

Zoe. Are we still friends?

A fish died for your sins!

A fresh head.

I made fresh bread.

Tea and fat readers made for late nights.

Struggling to remember the context. Whatever, it was probably a fun night anyway.

The whole company.

I think there’s a similar picture floating around of AK doing the same. Everone is gay but in denial.

Atreau, on the other hand, is just fly. Why don’t people say “fly” anymore?

Weeks searching on craigslist well spent.

Trevor makes a good woman.

I make a sleazy frenchman.

Cutest couple of the night.

Patrick would be good at everything as woman, too.

The night I met Marcy, I was intimidated. WTF?

Meghan, on the other hand, impressed me with her craftiness.

Refer to earlier gay comment.

May-day dinner on the god quad.

Bop. Man what a dude.

T’aint the seventies anymore, boy.



Around the time when it rained for practically a month straight.

At least rain makes for pretty sky, even if your feet are soggy and smell like a swamp.

This chicken had a “do not remove” metal sticker on it.

Did you know that a virus makes tulips have those occasional crazy colors in them?

Look who it is again, bringing his long stories and good cheer.

My favourite picture ever. Sweetness.