The hard drive serving schmonz.com finally decided to stop being somewhat unreliable. Now it's completely unreliable. Thanks to the design of my network, it was easy to fail gracefully. I installed a basic Web server directly on the firewall and wrote a simple page explaining the downtime and detailing progress toward getting back up. Then, I instructed the firewall to answer Web requests itself, instead of forwarding them to the demised Web box. Viola! Instead of an unreachable server, visitors to schmonz.com get pertinent information regarding the service outage.

What weather! Out of nowhere, we were treated to a windy but pleasurable 73 degrees. A perfect day for the Phi Kappa Theta Winter Formal, held at the Terrace Club at Jacobs Field. I attended with Wendy Adkins. It was my first formal dance.

That's right: I never went to Homecoming or Prom in high school, for lack of interest. While I got along well enough with most everyone, I didn't like wearing formal clothes, I didn't like structured events, and I didn't much care for dancing. The notable exception — and one of the highlights of my young life — was the sweet 16 party during which a girl I revered conversed with me most of the evening. When she suggested that we dance, I acquiesced in an outwardly nonchalant fashion. Did she know I was thrilled?

As upperclassmen we became rather more distant, almost certainly because I became a distant sort of person, shrouded as I was in my late adolescent ennui. Yet she still occupied a spacious cranny of my shellacked heart. And when I needed it most, she effortlessly gave me the best advice I've ever received, caressing the path of my life just so. I find myself thinking of her often. I can't help it. When will I see her next? Will she ever read any of this? Will she care?

These days I feel rather comfortable in formal attire, and enjoyed being with friends in a place I normally wouldn't find myself. It was especially nice to be able to step outside and relax in the evening breeze. When Ron, serving as disc jockey, played Biz Markie's “Just a Friend”, we all wailed along, trying to one-up (or one-down?) the Biz's vocal precision. A poignant moment.

Our pledges, as expected, pranked while we were gone. Results, themed “Sabotage”, were decent. Furniture in the red room was turned on its side, chapter room chairs were stacked and leaned into a sculpture of sorts, and the Greenhouse bathtub was filled with ramen noodles. My pledge class's prank was better: we filled the vestibule with soil and plants, moved the red room furniture to the front lawn and called it the “green room”, put up “for sale” signs, removed nearly all light bulbs and replaced them with blacklights, covered all doorknobs with Vaseline, tossed condoms all over the place and covered some greasy doorknobs with them, played raunchy music on all available computers, and generally caused severe annoyance to the brothers upon their return from last year's Formal. Ha ha! My high school chum Peter was visiting, too, and helped us out. Seated on a green room couch with Sarah Wiesner and me when the brothers returned, he made it into a couple photos in the Phi Kap album. I now have a legacy of sorts: primary responsibility for someone in the album that nobody else really knows. In a couple years, people looking through photos will have no idea who he is, and will waste lots of time running around the house trying to find him on a composite. Fools.

Post-formal, we lazified out on the porch in the still pleasantly warm air. In a nod to the anticlimatic temperature, some folks even played volleyball. I sat and chilled, influenced by the Dude, drinking primarily White Russians. (Mike sure can mix 'em.) Then, in Phrank's room, a wacky Gabe entertained all comers by repeatedly attempting to eat small bits of paper, throwing salt everywhere, injuring himself, falling in funny ways, and being generally silly.

One girl drank too much. I was told that she'd done so on other occasions. Wendy took charge and made sure she was clean and well watered. Why do some people not know their limits? Or if they do, why do they knowingly hurt themselves? And why do they make the water leak from the third floor bathroom, through Roth's bathroom, into my room? As my parents always said, it's easier to get it right the first time.

Keeping an eye on the sick person, several non-sick persons crashed at 6AM in the East Wing lounge. Wendy, Melissa, and I took the gray couch. Wendy was a great pillow.