I miss you, English foods I used to eat for breakfast.

I've been allowing my mind to wander down memory lane, across the Atlantic and into the heart of Lancashire lately. I've decided I'm going to make Shepherd's pie for dinner, some cheese and onion pasties for lunch, and I've been trying (in vain) to find a website that'll mail me Lucozade Sport. *sigh*

In less depressing news, I've decided to buy a new computer! This will not affect my what must be the handful of fans I've acquired thus far...I just wanted to share my happy news. It's going to be a brown one. I like brown.

Also, I'm tired of Joel playing NCAA football on the Gamecube. I thought about hiding it and saying someone broke in and stole it, but he'd probably see through my poorly planned lie.

Sure to be a bestseller among lions and vampires.

Tomorrow UNL starts school again for the second semester. So, as a recent graduate I'd just like to say: NEENER NEENER NEENER! YOU HAVE TO GO TO SCHOOL AND I DON'T!

*ahem*

In other news, last night I had a dream that I had somehow time traveled back to the royal courts in Elizabethan England. At first she thought I was a witch and threatened to burn me, until I started telling her about all the cool things the future has, like plumbing and Tylenol. Then I met John Cleese (why he was in 16th century England I don't know), only he was 7'4'' tall. Also, I had crutches. Man, I love dreams!

Now Dino can go where no reptile has gone before: the washing machine.

Know what's awesome? I saw Blue Oyster Cult tonight in concert. Initially, when I learned I'd have the opportunity to see the show, I thought it would be kind of cool in a dorky ironic sort of way. But that was before I realized the members of BOC could shred it like they've got a pair. "Meedlemeedlemee!" twanged their guitars whilst playing such classic hits as "Godzilla," "Don't Fear the Reaper," and "Burnin' for You."

The audience was perhaps even more entertaining, thanks in part to the bar directly outside the front doors of the auditorium. Nothing is more awkward than walking into a room of middle-aged couples and pensioners as a twenty-one year old with a dinosaur on your shirt. "Damn kids," the dude in the "NEED MORE COWBELL" shirt probably thought as Joel and I found or seats just a few spots down from a dude who was air guitaring to the Journey song playing the PA pre-BOC. Two drunk guys spent the entire concert head banging, giving the "rock on" sign, and trying to pick up chicks. Mullets were abundant, and I'm fairly certain I saw the most amazing mullet in all of mulletdom. The front was so short that it almost didn't look like a mullet at all, but upon closer inspection one saw that the front half of this dude's head was basic-training-crew-cut and the back was a ponytail so long it would make Obi-Wan Kenobi blush.

In conclusion, Blue Oyster Cult rocks, still, even though I'm pretty sure only two of the four were original members. And yes, "Don't Fear the Reaper" had some of the best cowbell I've ever heard. Got rid of my fever, I tell you what.

That's right, no ear holes. Dino uses heat sensors to track his victims.

So I've been paying close attention to the election these last few months, and I've come to a conclusion. The fact that the majority of Americans get all of their campaign information through the laughably skewed and deplorably inadequate media filter is a real shame indeed. Stop giving me sound bites. Stop giving me clips of this guy or that gal flip-flopping on some major issue. Stop spending fifteen hours analyzing whether or not Hillary Clinton did, in fact, shed a tear. The fact that you and your fellow hosts think Obama is comparable to JFK couldn't matter less to me.

Is there no other way to get the information I'm looking for? Could someone, anyone, for once, tell me the truth without first consulting his or her army of advisors? Voting's a big deal. It's an important decision and one that we're stuck with for the next four years. I don't want to feel like I'm being duped or having the wool pulled over my eyes. I can handle the truth.