Is Victory Mine?

Today was the highly-anticipated Alumni Board elections. On a positive note, no one ran against Darby and I; I thank Goulash for again inspiring terror in my foes. On a negative note, I never managed to find a ballot, so it's entirely possible that no one at all voted for me. Boy, that'd be a bittersweet victory. I can only hope that some confused elderly lady took the ballot for an opinion poll and circled an area near my name. At least then, I can claim that the people (or person) have spoken, and that holding all alumni board business at the dog track was part of the election mandate.

Even though I was running unopposed, we've yet to get word back regarding the results here at our election headquarters. Tensions are high. Octopussy, my head speechwriter, has been chasing bugs around and scratching my chair in disgust. Even I have found my cinnamon muffins a little less delectable under this great strain. So, if you happen to see me over the next few days, don't take it personally if I box your ears or attempt to strike you with my buggywhip; it's just the stress talking. I wouldn't put it past the Enemies of Powell to try to steal this election from under me, just like they stole that Steve Martin autograph at that auction we had at my junior high (I will chronicle this event at a later time).

I haven't shared any status reports on the Summer of Cody yet. It has gone okay, aside from the fact that I have gotten sunburned two straight weekends. It has not been a summer of triumph thus far, but rather one of skin abrasions and excessive peeling. It's just further proof that pasty boys like myself belong inside, playing with our pogs, rather than outside, where we're prone to spontaeously bursting into flames. This has been duly noted, and the Summer of Cody will now continue.