Exhibit A: It's nice to be back and catch up on all the messages about where we're all meeting up.

Exhibit B: I would have attributed both the smell and the floor residue to the glowstick juice which someone was slinging all over the place. Thanks to Jay for noticing the gas leak and preserving my eyebrows. The ceiling insulation accounts for the nagging cough I've had, since surely it couldn't be fucking cigarettes.

Exhibit C: Six hours? Talk about false advertising. I'm no granny, but it was more like 7 1/2. But then again, your calculations must not include the mandatory stop in Chugwater, WY for fine cuisine and flyering amongst the yokels, I mean locals.

Exhibit D: Still have to straighten out my Brians. Which one of you is still trying to figure out what I was wanting done with the strobe light? And just how many Brians are there?

Exhibit E: Not enough chat time (see exhibits A and D). Would've been nice to hang out with the cool people on stage, but between meeting locals in the smoking area (although I was NOT smoking) and 7 hours of DANCING, and a prompt return before the after-party...

Exhibit G: What more could anyone want from one of these "things"? Serious question. I mean, a great space, great vibe, great tunes, room to dance. HUGE props to ZOOP and the deeje a's. (I know it's F, just testing you.)

Fondly, with meaningful recollections of the Carter administration,

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e pluribus epluribus@plur.uswc.uswest.com