well, i don’t want fop
I’m trying some pomade. To my knowledge, there is no current label or assumption regarding those who use pomade, so I’ll be innocent and give it a shot. Due to my appreciation for O Brother, Where Art Thou?, I had the impression that my tin of pomade would make me look like George Clooney’s character. Perhaps it would even grant me a hint of rugged, Southern intellectualism.
To my misfortune, my Dapper Dan-equivalent did not seep into my brain and stimulate cell reproduction, but it is a very fine product. I’ve tried in vain to find a fairly-priced, hair product that can keep hair perfectly stiff (for my tastes) and I do believe I’ve found it. Pomade, friends - it’s the latest in trend fashion.
So, it’s been less than 24 hours since I’ve considered myself moved-in, and I’ve already begun studying. Granted, my job highly suggests that I keep up with the assignments of Emporium students (which is understandable; would you want an ignorant and unhelpful advisor to attempt to alleviate mathematical stress?) and I know there are a few weak areas in my great pool of knowledge. I would like to make some kind of ridiculous, used-car-sales-esque guarantee that if my customers are not satisfied then they get a clean return on their dealings; but, quite unfortunately, my feeble attempts at directing students to a higher understanding of math come with only the promise that confusion will be kept at a minimum.
Right now, though, I’m currently ruminating on the choice of having a white board on my door and not having a white board on my door. Luckily, I’ve attained more clothes hangers which was a need very close to my heart. Or closet.