I bought a Mac mini a few days ago, and have been trying it out all over the place… and, I gotta say, I’m sorry I’ve been a holdout for so long.

First of all, the fact that it’s about the size of 4 Eggo waffles, stacked one atop the other, is just sick in itself. But, to then find out that the OS is awesome, and that all that software I wanted to buy for my PC actually comes with the damn thing was clutch.

Wow. I just wrote “clutch.” I apologize.

Anyway, gonna be giving this toy a try for a while… see how it works out. So far, so good, but you never know with me.

Ah, who’m I kiddin’? I’ve joined the cult…

I finally, finally figured out why my major gives me a major (lame pun intended) headache… I hate, hate, hate closed-minded Republicans!

See, I’m a Computer Security major, which is in the Criminal Justice department of my school. And, today in my Intro To Criminal Justice Class, the conversation of Guantanamo Bay came up, and how the people there are denied due process. And, you know, beaten, tourtured, and treated like crap in general, but mainly the due process part.

The kid next to me (sporting a shaved head and “US Navy” lanyard for his keys) started talking about how these people deserve their treatment, because they could be killing us. The professor started talking about how they haven’t been proven terrorists, that they could be just there for fitting the profile, but be as innocent as the rest of us. Baldy wouldn’t hear it, of course, because he had to be right… since, you know, those white people always know when they’re in danger, and it’s usually when someone with a dark skin tone is around.

Being Irish myself, it’s hard for me to subscribe to that philosophy… I’m not just white, I’m downright pastey. Everyone has a darker skin tone than I do, so I’d be one paranoid little tool to fall for that line of thinking.

Anywho, given that The Hairless One’s concept of terrorist prevention seems to be the ruling view of those who I share a major, and that they’re all as open to opposing views as I am to the idea of “Sugar-Free Cheesecake,” I think I will have to find something else to do.

‘Cause sugar-free cheesecake sucks just as much as this whole situation does.

…for totally jumping onto Veronica Mars, one of the best TV shows I’ve ever seen. Not only does he guest star in an episode next season, he was given the boxed set of Season One to look over before he went to the shoot (which he didn’t do), only to watch the entire season in two days after the shoot was over (if I recall, as this post is being written over the same time period).

I can’t recommend Veronica Mars enough to anyone who has an IQ over 12; it is one of the best shows on TV now, and I cannot describe the anguish I’ll be feeling this fall season, since Alias and Veronica will be on at the same time, meaning I’ll have to TiVO one of them and watch the other as it airs.

And since Kristen Bell, the actress who plays the insanely hot Ms. Mars, has yet to bring forth the end of the world by creating AffleckSpawn, you can guess where my loyalty will be.

Just got back from lunch at SUNY Farmingdale’s lovely “Toasty’s,” which resides in the even lovelier Roosevelt Hall. OK, Roosevelt Hall isn’t all that lovely, but it’s way better than Walt Whitman Hall, which is a storage facility with a few desks.

Anywho, the other day I was talking about how I had a sandwich they called “French Dip,” but was really just a roast beef and provolone sandwich, toasted to perfection, but it was missing the key ingredient to French Dip, which is the actual dip, or au jus. I really enjoy typing au jus, so I will do it again. Au jus, au jus, au jus, au jus. You should really try it some time.

Well, I went there today, just to see if maybe they got their act together and threw me my au jus, which, I figure, there should be a law on the books somewhere that says that they must do.

Of course, to find out I had to order. To do that, I had to wait behind three overweight, obnoxious women, one of which had more facial hair than Walter Brimley, and all of whom could not decide what they wanted to eat, driving the poor girl working the counter insane. 15 minutes later, the Bearded Lady decides that she’s “not hungry,” which is in quotes because I’m pretty sure she ate a small goat or something once she walked out of the building, one decides that she wants a salad (which she canceled right as the girl working the counter, who was obviously new, got the order in to the people who make the salads in the back… “Salad Gnomes,” I call ‘em), and one decides she wants tuna.

“I’m sorry,” the Counter Girl sighed, ready for the whining that was sure to follow, “but we’re out of tuna.”

“WHAT?!” Tubby #3 exclaimed. “You guys opened two days ago, and you’re out of tuna?!” Insert dramatic sigh here. “Fine,” she snapped, looking like she was ready just to eat Counter Girl in a minute, “what do you have?”

“Turkey?” the Counter Mistress timidly said, fearing for her life.

“Alright, make me a turkey club,” Tubby, The Woman Who Looked Like A Whale, snapped. The girl whipped it up, and handed it to Fatty McLardAss, who looked at it with the same disgust that would be displayed if the Counter Chick had just asked if she could nail Chub’s dog.

“Have a nice day?” The Amazing Sandwich Counter Lady asked, hoping to be rid of the Triplets of Fattyville.

“Whatever,” one of them responded, paying for their food. Finally, I was up.

“Can I help you?” The Sandwich Artist, who’s name tag read “Emily,” I believe, asked me, wondering if I’d be another food fight. (Boy, sometimes I’m so cleaver, it hurts.) Placing my order for my French Dip, I happened to glance up at the sign, reading the “Buy Any Sandwich, Get Any Fountain Soda For $1!”

‘Any fountain soda?’ I thought, wondering if the Vat O’ Cola^® that you could get as a drink there would qualify for this promotion. With nothing more than $2.75 to lose on the experiment, I decided to get myself the biggest fountain soda they had.

By the time I came back (’cause that is one biiiiiig cup), my sandwich had been finished. Then, the gentleman that made my sandwich the last time I was there came out of the back.

“French Dip?” he asked, knowing, in his infinite culinary wisdom, that it was. Before Emily could respond, he grabbed a tiny cup, and filled it with the object of my affection: crack! No, wait, he filled it with au jus. Sorry.

Happy in the fact that I had gotten a complete French Dip experience, I walked over to the register, where I watched with great satisfaction as the soda rang up at a dollar.

So, for $5.99, I got a bigger meal than I would get at some other chain, and they didn’t charge me tax, since (a) I’m a student and (b) I hit on the lady who rang me up, Lucy, who was no less than 800 years old. I have no shame.

Therefore, I revise my earlier review of Toasty’s to say that not only do they not suck, they’re actually pretty good, and you should go eat there.

And tell Lucy I said “hi.”