I stare at an empty edit box, knowing that you will eventually read this, wondering what needs to go here. Is there anything more that I can tell you that can't simply be said? What more can I offer here that I can't offer elsewhere?

By now, you are probably bored, having checked your email, surfed the news, and wandered the postings of your alumni sites. I'm sorry to say I don't think I can relieve your boredom much.

This is just me typing into an empty text box.

Soon I will have you in my arms again. That's all that really matters.

The rest of the world can go away.

But when it does, what can I say to you? That I love you? Something you've already heard a thousand times? There really isn't all that much to say that hasn't already been said. There will be nothing new I can offer. There is little new here as well.

But I hope it is enough.

Enough to make you smile. Enough to make you wistful. Enough to make you think back to the times when we couldn't stop laughing at something silly we were both doing. Enough to remind you that you are still the most important person in my life.

This is all I can think of as I sit here imagining your thoughts as you read this. I know it isn't much in the way of poetic language or profound thought. It is just something I thought I'd do. I know it isn't flowers, but it is from me, to you. I'm hoping that will be enough.

Last night, my roommate drew a pentagram on the concrete sidewalk outside our door.

It is important to know that last night was also Halloween.

He was bored and he wanted to something Halloweenish on Halloween. This is when he decided to draw a pentagram.

Unfortunately, we didn't have any chalk. So, relying on his thriftyness, he used his shaving cream.

When he was finished drawing the pentagram, he decided he also wanted symbols around the edge of it. Having run out of shaving cream almost before he finished the pentagram, he found something else to complete his community decoration, an unused stick of deoderant.

The symbols around the edge ended up being roman numerals (I, II, III, IV, V). Which is kind of silly when you think about it. Roman numerals don't really look all that satanic. Their redeeming quality was that the deoderant writing looked silvery. So the not-so-satanic symbols still looked cool.

We got lots of comments from people passing by. (We are across from the dorm elevator, so we got lots of people passing by, and they had to step over or around the pentagram to get on the elevator) They generally seemed to assume that one of us put the pentagram there. The only person who complained was one of my roommates friends who stepped in the shaving cream. He didn't mind too much that it was there though. Our RA stopped by and told us to have it cleaned up by tomorrow. Over all it just seemed to get people talking. (Satanic symbols are conversation starters?)

The next day my roommate tried to clean it up.
First he used water. Then water with soap. Then liquid laundry soap. This actually worked, but left a slight stain itself.
The shaving cream and the deoderant seem to have etched into the concrete.


Does anyone know how to get either or both of these out of concrete without staining the concrete worse? If so, please post it, and message me, so I can update this w/u with a link. And get the pentagram off of the floor outside my door.

Update! The chemical cleaner 409 worked excellently to get the shaving cream out of the cement. All the people walking over it to get to the elevator probably helped too.
At Adelaide Oval South Australia played New South Wales in the ING Cup (one-day cricket) match. It featured an array of past and present Test players not seen very often nowadays in domestic matches: for SA Darren Lehmann, Jason Gillespie and Damien Fleming; for NSW the captain of Australia, his twin brother who retired from international cricket this week, Glenn McGrath, Brett Lee, Michael Bevan and Stuart MacGill. Surprising, then, that the Oval wasn't packed out to see the sight.SA made 246, of which Lehmann, the man who replaces Junior in the national team, scored 83. Mark Waugh himself made 76 for NSW (who won by 3 wickets in the last over). For almost twenty years people have hailed him as a batting stylist: the "elegant", "graceful", "effortless", "languid", "carefree" strokemaker who makes it all look so easy--and now I know what they mean. At last, for the first time, I've seen it for myself. Earlier this year he and Steve Waugh were dropped from the Australian team for the one-day internationals, and the country seemed to reel in traumatized reaction. Speculation about the Waughs' future and their batting failures added an extra layer of emotion to the Tests in South Africa--listening to the match broadcasts in February and March, it was as if I were an aural witness to a twilight of the gods; even the South African commentators seemed to suffer an attack of nostalgic reverence. That Mark Waugh's return to form today took place in the company of former Test teammates gave his innings an extra frisson. In addition, Tugga made 47. And at last I saw that too: the Ice Man. The cautiousness and tenacity and guts of the most successful captain Australia has ever had. For years the name Waugh flitted around on the edge of my consciousness, in sports bulletins and the sports pages and by chance in the same cities I happened to be in, and I never paid much attention--until now. And now it's almost too late.Why does cricket matter so much? Why do people hang onto every word of the radio commentaries and lose sleep to watch it bleary-eyed in the middle of the night on satellite TV beamed from another hemisphere, or migrate to Australia for the southern summer to watch the Ashes series here every four years? Why are there so many books written about it, so many histories of the game, biographies of players, tour diaries, novels, poems? Why is Wisden some people's favorite book? Why do some countries treat international cricketers as gods and cricket as more important than life? No one really knows. And it doesn't really matter. It's summer here. Roll on Thursday.

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