The sky was so blue at 7 a.m. it was just…bluuuuuuuuuee. I’m talking unearthly. What can I do to honor such blueness, I thought. Decided: Go to history class. The KWF history subgroup’s fave prof is having a summer-term lecture on the History of Warfare, 1500 to Present; I thought I’d drop in.

Unfortunately, I remembered the day (MWF), the hour (9-11) and the building (chemistry), but not the room. I wandered through two floors of lecture halls before giving up and sending an e-mail from the Chemistry Learning Center, yet another computer resource available to anyone who walks in and looks like she knows what she’s doing. Not that I know what I’m doing in a chem lab. The warning signs on the doors — DANGER ACETYLENE DANGER HIGH MAGNETISM DANGER EXPLOSIVES — are enough to send me running from the building.

So I didn’t get two hours of war history. But just the act of pedaling down to campus, of riding across the Diag again — oh, it was a bittersweet feeling. I loved college the first time around, and loved it more this time.

(Just got a reply from the prof: The midterm’s Friday, and Monday’s lecture starts the opening campaigns of WWI. On the one hand, I’m not surprised — the guy does have a no-nonsense, move-the-ball-down-the-field teaching style. But I’m disappointed I missed 400 years in three weeks. Talk about snoozing/losing.)

Now the day is fleeting, and I have to get some work done. In the meantime, amuse yourself with this oh-for-God’s-sake angle on the death of Tony Randall. You’d have to look pretty hard to find an obit that ignored “The Odd Couple” to single out, oh, a lesser example of Randall’s work, but fortunately, I did the looking for you.