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I went to a party when I was 16 or 17 for a bunch of people who used a local multinode (100+ lines) subscription BBS, one of the first in Nashville to have Internet access. (The Sounds of Silence, for the curious.)

The host's name was Jeff, and his wife's name was Patty. They used the handles Ffej and Jafo, or sometimes Wiz and Peppermint Patty. They are truly awesome people. But I digress.

The party was on a Saturday night, and most everyone got rip-roaring drunk. A lot of fun was had by all, nobody was seriously injured, the neighbors only call the police four times, and most furniture survived. A lot of people stayed and slept on the floor in the living room, the hallways, the guest bedroom, the hood of someones car, etc.

The following morning, Jeff had to go to work, and everyone else left before 10:00, but Patty and I decided to make breakfast. However, they were out of cereal. After pondering the situation briefly, I suggested biscuits. We calculated the measures of each ingredient for just enough biscuits for two people, and began to gather the milk, flour, etc.

I measured out the buttermilk, and discovered that there was precisely the amount of buttermilk required. Then I measured out the flour, and discovered the same. It was the same with each of the ingredients; there was just enough to make biscuits for two people, no more, no less. I mixed the ingredients, I kneaded the biscuit dough, I dropped scoopfuls of dough onto metal cookie sheets and pushed the pan into the oven. Then it hit me.

For this brief moment, everything became clear. I achieved inner peace and a sort of harmony with the universe, the world, and the biscuits.

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