The Roots's nouveau is what I imagined, pure hip-hop perfect.
Squeezed in a listen this earliest of AM's before readings, ruminations and rooting about in the Academie, and the trek to Parsons and points beyond. As is the scholastic usual, a study jag from 7AM to classtime, in this case a solid 4.5 hours, slightly longerish on Tuesdays and Thursdays when punch-in time is 3. Lest you think all that happens in this Perfect School World is long walks, puffs on American Splendours and a smattering of shoe shopping. Well, no comment.
Blogging from Bowling Green for wi-fi-oriented class, allegedly this the oldest park in the Shiny Apple. Makes sense as it is so south and where did those that lived under Stuyvesant's rule live but down here, on the tip. The tip of farmland, downhome development.
After some bantering about with a record shop boy acquired also a fine fine recording by a Shiny Apple band, Ambulance Ltd. Terrible name, wondrous 80s-like sounds that are all pepped up and highly recommended to my music geeks.
Back to class, focus, studenthood, brown-nosiness.
Reminds me of my classic remake of the Julio Iglesias smash hit:
To All the Noses I've Loved Before.
Love of Noses.

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Since the most current newstale of a possible leave-taker, muck-maker and deserter have been thinking of what it is to repatriot one. The shoving back in, the shoveling out, of ideas. A term that might be used in oso many day-to-day situs: I return from a voyage and then You get to repatriot Yours Truly. The whos, whats, whens, wheretofors, whereuntos, whichevers and the like.