Twenty Years Old

If you are 20 years old in America, the you are missing OUT!

Johanna put it so simply, "I will never be 20 years old and in London ever again." So true.

This opportunity is highly time-sensitive, and it's becoming more and more evident.
Par exemple,

Earlier tonight I attended a lecture on the Russia-Ukraine gas conflict which concluded with sandwiches (I had 4) and wine in the senior common room of my college. I mingled with my Soviet and Russian Foreign Policy teacher, Pete Duncan, while he tipped back a glass of white, and implored him as to where I should seek sources for my 10-page paper for his class, due in 1.5 weeks. He gave me good--and appropriately erudite--advice, "the primary source". Well, duh! Also, I should note that today Georgia taught me how to use her espresso machine so I've developed an intimate, and timely, relationship with that thing. For example, it's 1 A.M. now and I am likely going to brew myself another shot and dig into the wealth of said primary sources (statements, contracts, press releases from the CIS and its constituents) then toss back a hot glass of mulled wine and call it a late, sexy, Russian night. Does this mean I'm officially 89 or just saucy and cultured?

I vote cultured.

And also, I call mad bullshit on the grody feathered creations from this year's Lunar Gala. Try harder, please.