Am I a total dork for reading Chomsky while doing my forty minutes on the elliptical today? Well, maybe not, since I only got through four pages of Language and the Mind: Present...not because the material was difficult or dense, but because it was difficult to get the book into a position which made it readable while I was using those arm things. I haven't had much luck with my issues of The New Yorker, either. Someone needs to design an elliptical which is more conducive to reading. Please?

I saw a performance of Handel's Messiah in the chapel over the weekend. It was gorgeous; I coveted the mezzo soprano's voice (especially her rendition of "He Shall Feed his Flock"...which pricked my eyes with tears). I was reminded of how much I love singing...it used to be such a release for me. It sounds vaguely disturbing, but during my freshman year of college, whenever I felt depressed, I would climb to the roof of the tower in my residential college and sing my heart out, as the wind whipped my hair against my cheek, with only the moon as my audience. Somehow, someway, I should get my tired ass back into a chorus of some sort. Or maybe find a new tower with a roof to provide a platform for cathartic singing. Hmmm...maybe I need to stalk people with access to the chapel.