you may have heard, the president of the islamic republic of iran, mahmoud ahmadinejad, will be speaking on monday as part of a world leaders forum at my place of work, columbia university. ok.

you may be able to guess, a lot of people have strong opinions about this. well, the columbia undergrads pretty much have strong opinions about everything, and try to play sixties and cause a mess at any opportunity. also, such luminaries as rudolph giuliani like to get all red-faced and burst veins over letting the batshit insane iranian president go anywhere in new york.

lee bollinger, the president of columbia (whom i stood near once, and i am happy to report he's about as short as me, yay) says he wants to debate ahmadinejad, to "know the nature of the enemy." hey, sounds fine to me.

thing is, i am lecturing a class that day, so i will definitely be there. what kind of horse shit will be loosed upon the world that day? i'm betting that i am hit on the head with a nightstick by a cop on a horse, because i'm trying to cross the street, to get away from the rock-throwing columbia students, who are being shot at by imported cammo-clad minutemen, who are being clubbed by secret service agents. and i'm sure critical mass will ride by at just that moment, as the NYPD shoots them off their bikes one by one. as i fall and a bike wheel goes over my legs, hopefully i will land on the inflated union rat, who has to be there. i mean come on, i love the rat. the singing christians will run over to help me up, and will be immediately set upon by lyndon larouche himself, some members of the campaign to stop columbia expansion into harlem, and some awkward hasidim asking me if i'm jewish. since the christians are busy, greenpeace will give me a hand (for a fifty dollar* commitment to our environment), and then, just as i'm getting away, here comes the can you give me fifty cents guy. "no, i can't give you fifty cents!" then it's whack with the cop on the horse again.

*per month

today a guy came and washed my windows at work, which means the outsides of the windows, and ten floors up. he got on my desk, stepped out the window, and hooked this strap to his belt. then he leaned back, with his feet on the ledge, and, well, washed the window. hanging ten floors above the street with what seemed like minimal attachment.

frankly, it disturbed the fuck out of me. i went in the other room. but hey, the window is all bright now.

i am cleaning out my desk, a task which flutters in front of your face, in reverse order, a going down for the third time type documental concatenation of memories. like, here's that dude's business card. (god, why would i ever call that dude??) here's where i was trying to solve a third-order differential equation--why did i save that?

here in my hand i have a folded piece of notebook paper that says:

Hurt myself on
April 14
21 (1 week)
28 (2 weeks)
5 (3 weeks)
12 (4 weeks)

poor josh. this is where i hurt myself at mile 10 of a 13-mile run, and couldn't run or climb stairs for several weeks. i was so upset--profoundly upset--because it made me miss my first-ever half marathon.

and like a little kid, i kept a meticulous written record of my healing time. because when you're feeling helpless, documentation at the very least helps you feel like you're trying. i'm working on getting better. look, i write down each week. i'll beat this, i will.

yesterday i was caught in the most intense downpour, walking from steinway street to home. i had a new green umbrella, which i bought in michigan. my head stayed dry, but everything up to my shoulders was wet. it wasn't the umbrella's fault.

i am sitting on the street in east lansing, michigan, on what appears to be a sunny, cool fall day. it’s about 11am and kids are drinking cans of beer on occasional lawns, playing music out their windows. today the michigan state something-somethings play the something-somethings. everyone (everyone) is wearing one of four or five tee-shirts, all pertaining to m.s.u.. if one of the sigma chi dudes yelled down to the sidewalk and offered me a beer, i would uncatagorically be for the spartans. as it is, writing on my website completely sober, here on the shady sidewalk, i will have to remain neutral.

i’m on my way into the lab, and there is no day i can think of when i have wanted to inhabit “the lab” less than today. rather, i would like to drink bad beer and hang out, maybe on the lawn of a completely shitified mansion, with the speakers in the windows. in fact, just for today, it would be fun to be 20.

i did not make a good 20-year-old; something about it was wrong for me. i think it required a type of confidence i didn’t have. much in the same way that i didn’t make a good child. but, hark, i do honestly think i have been thirty-something my entire life, and now i actually am. i will say, it’s nice to feel comfortable for once.

or maybe i would have said the same thing about being 20 at the time. maybe i am just supremely full of shit. you decide.

there is a little clumsy green spider crawling down my screen. how cute.

from a younger graduate student: "josh, i have noticed, you have white hair."

yeah. i do.