One or Two? Two or Three?

My pupils are dilated from a visit to the optometrist, so in true creepy blogger fashion I'm sitting in the dark, alone, listening to music, eating peanut butter from the jar and typing. It's been a while since I've been to get my eyes checked, and it's been a while since having my favorite optometrist conversation, which obviously centers around looking at letters and determining how blind I actually am...

Doc: One or two?
Me: Two.
Doc: Two or Three?
Me: Um, three.
Doc: Three or Four?
Me: I can't really tell if there's a difference...
Doc: Three or Four?
Me: Can I see Three again?
Doc: Three.
Me: Okay, and now Four
Doc: Four.
Me: Jeez, Three one more time please.
Doc: Okay...Three.
Me: Wow, they are sooo similar. I think I'm going to go with Four.
Doc: Ok, now tell me...
Me:...wait, definitely Three. Three. Definitely Three.

For those of you scoring at home my prescription is a slight -.75, -.75, which is good enough to avoid wearing classes most of the time, but just bad enough to have to squint at people standing far away, thus looking like a total creepy weirdo, especially at the bars.

Tomorrow I will hopefully be squinting into the sun, as Wednesday marks the first of three consecutive days of golf. I'm praying for an appearance by my friend Ra, the Sun God.

Ra, with one of those newfangled putters.

I've played at least once a week for the past three weeks and I'm definitely getting into it. With local greens fees coming in at a whopping $25 (including cart) and kosher hotdogs at the turn it's hard not to get excited for Spring in Ann Arbor. I've been spending the last couple weeks pretending that school isn't coming to a close, but my nose was shoved in it last Saturday at the Michigan Spring Football game, which is simply a practice/scrimmage that 50,000 people show up to. Walking down Hill towards the stadium in 50+ degree weather with everyone outside drinking and grilling made me realize that come September that won't exist for me. Depressing. Very depressing. It's like I'm living the life of a retiree without even having worked. Actually more like a retiree who eats like a 20 year old, and drinks like a 23 year old scientist. The reason I say scientist stems from shenanigans last night. We have an MBA bar crawl next week, and one of the stops is a German rathskeller called Heidelberg. At Heidelberg my team of five will drink a boot of beer (88oz of glory). It will look like this...

So being the competitors that we are, and it also being a Monday, we decided to go and practice. Between the debates about handoffs, the possible anchorman, proper beer temperature to maximize speed, and of course the navigation of the air bubble, you would've thought we were taking all the fun out of drinking beer, however, in two "dry" runs we were able to go sub-55 seconds twice, plus we shaved two seconds by smoothing out our transitions. Also worth noting is none of us tested positive for performance enhancing drugs. I think we can go below 50 seconds. I really do. These are the things that keep me awake at night, and now you can understand why the prospect of leaving this place in three weeks makes me want to cry little boot-shaped tears of beer.